I  LIFTED  MY  HEAD  TO  GET  A  CLEARER  VIEW 


BLACK  BOULDER 
CLAIM 

'By  PERRY  NEWBERRY 


Illustrated  by 
Henry  Pitz 


THE    PENN    PUBLISHING 
COMPANY  PHILADELPHIA 

1926 


COPYRIGHT 
1921  jt  BY 
THE  PENN 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 


Black  Boulder  Claim 


Dedicated  to 

boys  young  and  dd,  <who  like 
adventure 


662761 


Introduction 

THIS  is  a  story  of  the  experiences  of  two  boys 
in  the  Sierra  Nevada  mountains  in  Lassen  and 
Plunias  Counties,  California.  Their  adven 
tures  take  them  from  Jamesville,  a  small  mining  town, 
up  over  Old  Baldy  to  Eagle  Lake  and  that  spur  of  the 
range  in  which  the  lake  is  held.  Anyone  knowing  this 
section  of  the  country  will  be  pleased  to  find  that  the 
scene  of  the  story,  all  of  the  description  of  the  towns 
and  the  groves  and  the  ranges,  is  kept  strictly  within  the 
bounds  of  truth,  and  that  one  must  draw  on  his  imagina 
tion  for  the  plot  alone.  For  those  who  have  never  been 
in  this  beautiful  and  wild  part  of  our  land,  it  may  be  well 
to  give  a  short  description  of  the  flora  and  fauna  of  the 
country. 

Everyone,  naturally,  has  heard  of  the  giant  redwoods 
of  California  (Sequoia  Gigantica),  which  grow  in  large 
groves,  covering  spaces  of  perhaps  less  than  a  hundred 
acres.  Some  of  these  are  noble,  huge  old  giants,  sur 
rounded  by  pines  and  beautiful  Douglas  spruces.  More 
perfect  specimens  are  peculiarly  symmetrical  and  regu 
lar,  though  like  the  columns  in  Greek  architecture  they 
are  not  spoiled  by  being  too  conventional,  showing  great 
variety  in  harmony  and  general  unity;  the  inspiring 
shafts  with  rich,  long,  fluted  bark,  absolutely  clear  of 
smaller  limbs  for  almost  two  hundred  feet,  are  tufted 

5 


Introduction 

here  and  there  with  bunches  of  green.  The  main 
branches  of  the  oldest  trees  are  very  large  and  crooked, 
and  zigzag  stiffly  to  the  point  where  they  dissolve  in 
dense  masses  of  little  branches,  making  a  regular,  though 
greatly  varied,  outline.  The  foliage  at  the  top  ter 
minates  in  a  great  dome,  that  may  be  distinguished  from 
even  great  distances,  thrown  up  against  the  sky  above 
the  darker  bed  of  pine  and  firs  and  spruces.  This  is  the 
king  of  all  conifers,  not  only  in  size,  but  in  majesty  of 
bearing.  Some  of  these  trees  are  so  large  at  the  base 
that  whole  stage-coaches,  horses  attached,  have  been  able 
to  drive  through  them. 

Small  lakes  abound  in  this  country,  many  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea, — on  ridges,  along  mountainsides  and 
in  piles  of  moraine  boulders.  The  largest  of  these  lakes 
are  found  at  the  foot  of  declivities  where  the  push  of  the 
glaciers  was  heaviest.  These  attain  considerable  size 
and  depth.  Their  waters  are  remarkably  clear  and  one 
can  see  down  through  them  for  great  distances.  Below 
the  waters  of  many  of  the  lakes,  the  rock  in  some  places 
still  shows  the  grooving  and  polishing  marks  of  the 
glacier  period ;  the  erosion  of  the  wave  action  has  not  as 
yet  entirely  obliterated  these  superficial  marks  of  glacia- 
tion. 

In  our  story,  one  of  the  boys  shoots  a  bear;  and  it  is  a 
well-known  fact  that  this  great  range  of  mountains 
abounds  with  game,  one  reason  being  that  the  large  na 
tional  parks  serve  as  excellent  preserves,  and  also  be- 

6 


Introduction 

cause  the  mountain  fastnesses  of  the  Sierra  range  fur 
nish  safe  shelter  for  the  wild  folk  of  the  woods. 

Again,  he  shoots  a  cougar  or  mountain  panther,  which 
is  stealing  up  in  the  night  to  slay  his  horse,  Zim.  These 
ferocious  beasts  are  so  plentiful  that  the  state  of  Cali 
fornia  pays  a  bounty  for  all  of  them  killed  when  suf 
ficient  proof  is  given.  Rabbits,  squirrels,  quail  and 
other  small  birds  and  animals  are  in  abundance.  The 
foliage  and  undergrowth  is  dense  and  where  land  is 
covered  in  this  way,  game  is  bound  to  be  plentiful. 

One  of  the  largest  bushes  of  this  country  is  the  man- 
zanita,  which  has  exceedingly  crooked,  stubborn 
branches  and  is  not  easily  penetrated.  In  the  first  part 
of  the  story,  Ted  is  told  that  he  will  find  gold  in  the 
grass  roots.  The  reason  for  this  is  that  the  manzanita 
grows  proportionately  above  and  below  the  surface  of 
the  ground.  Therefore,  when  looking  for  water  to  use 
in  a  mining  sluice,  if  tall  manzanita  bushes  grow  near 
the  claim,  the  chances  are  that  water  is  fairly  close  to  the 
surface. 

To  follow  the  trip  which  the  boys  took  in  their  search 
for  gold,  take  a  map  of  California  and  look  in  the  north 
western  corner  of  Lassen  and  Plumas  Counties,  and 
midway  between  them  you  will  find  Jamesville.  From 
here,  go  northwest  to  Eagle  Lake  and  downward  again 
to  Susanville,  where  Lem  went  for  supplies.  If  the  map 
has  sufficient  detail,  you  will  readily  see  the  rugged 
country,  which  they  had  to  cross. 

7 


Contents 


I. 

A  TURN  IN  THE  TRAIL                •        .        • 

•      13 

. 

36 

• 

TV 

THE  PISTOL-SHOTGUN          •        •        •        • 

40 

IV. 

v 

62 

v  • 
VT 

71 

V  1« 

VII. 

THE  CABIN  ON  THE  LAKE    .... 

.          80 

VIII. 

BUILDING  A  HOME        

•      9° 

IX 

98 

AAV* 

X' 

112 

. 

XI. 

SOLVING  THE  FOOD  PROBLEM 

.       121 

XII. 

"JUMPED!"        

•       133 

XIII. 

A  QUESTION  OF  RIGHTS 

.       I46 

XIV. 

A  CONFERENCE  IN  A  TREE   .... 

.     160 

XV. 

A  LYNX  INTERFERES    

.     168 

XVI. 

RECONNAISSANCE           

.     179 

XVII. 

FAUSTINA    .        

.     189 

XVIII. 

BATTLE  PLANS     

.     198 

XIX. 

THE  BATTLE  OPENS    

.      210 

XX. 

IN  THE  NIGHT     ...... 

.      222 

XXI. 

THE  LIGHTNING-CHANGE  ACT 

.      229 

XXII. 

A  FLAG  OF  TRUCE        

.       241 

9 

Contents 

XXIII.  POCKET  OF  GOLD        *        .        ,        .        .        .  253 

XXIV.  BACK  TO  BALDV 265 

XXV.     GIANT  MESQUITES       ..,,..  273 

XXVI.     WAYNE  MAKES  His  LAST  BID     .         .         .         .  284 

XXVII.     GOLD  IN  THE  GRASS  ROOTS         ....  295 


10 


Illustrations 

I  LIFTED  MY  HEAD  TO  GET  A  CLEARER  VIEW        .  Frontispiece 

PAGE 

HE  TALKED  READILY  AND  INTERESTINGLY        ...       64 
THERE  WAS  GOLD  IN  THE  PAN  !      .         .         .         .         .     101 

THE  Two  MEN  SPENT  THE  REST  OF  THE  DAY  BUILDING 

SLUICES       ....  .  .190 

DOWN    THE    HILL,    WALKING    JERKILY,    HALTING    FRE 
QUENTLY    .         .         .         .         .         .         •         •         • 


Black  Boulder  Claim 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

CHAPTER  I 

A  TURN  IN  THE  TRAIL 

ZIM  snorted,  jerked  up  his  head  against  my 
laggard  rein,  and  stopped  dead  in  the  trail. 
Again  I  turned  in  the  saddle  and  looked  back. 
The  glow  of  the  sun  that  had  dipped  behind  the  moun 
tains  to  the  west  still  lit  the  peak  of  Old  Baldy,  making 
of  its  rough  sides  a  radiant  harmony  of  color,  orange  and 
gold,  with  lavender  and  purple  shadows. 

13 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

But  my  eyes  dropped  lower  to  where  the  scrub-pine 
and  manzanita  brush  marked  the  trail  I  had  followed 
since  noon.  The  greater  part  of  its  twelve  miles  of  zig 
zag  windings  was  in  view  behind  and  above  me,  and  with 
keen  eyes  I  searched  its  length.  Someone,  a-horse,  was 
following  me. 

Zim  had  twice  before  in  the  last  hour  on  the  narrow 
trail  whinnied  and  stopped  in  his  slow,  careful  walk. 
The  first  time  I  had  believed  a  rattler  slipping  through 
the  rocks  might  have  caused  the  disturbance  of  good 
old  Zim's  usually  complacent  temper.  But  I  was  sure 
now.  Somewhere  behind  us,  within  sound  of  his  whinny, 
was  a  horse. 

I  let  Zim  rest  and  listened  with  him  for  an  answer. 
It  was  that  quiet  time  that  succeeds  the  setting  of  the 
sun,  when  the  wind  seems  to  slip  away  in  company  with 
the  day.  From  the  village  below  me,  smoke  came  from 
chimneys  to  rise  straight  and  high ;  people  were  at  sup 
per  tables ;  here  and  there  a  cow  grazed  in  the  streets ; 
lights  began  to  glitter  from  windows.  Down  there  it 
was  beginning  to  be  night  while  the  sun  still  lingered 
on  Baldy's  top. 

Zim's  ears,  which  had  been  cocked  forward,  relaxed, 
and  he  reached  his  muzzle  around  to  nose  the  sage  beside 
the  path.  I  touched  him  with  my  heel,  tautened  the 
reins  with: 

"  Get  up,  old  nag.  Almost  home,"  and  we  began  the 
last  switchback  to  cross  the  river  at  the  ford. 


A  Turn  in  the  Trail 

There  was  no  cause  for  serious  worry  in  a  pursuing 
horseman.  It  might  be  some  prospector  following  down 
the  trail  I  had  come,  making  in  to  Jamesville  for  sup 
plies.  That  he  had  not  closed  up  the  gap  between  us 
in  the  opportunities  I  had  given  by  my  delays,  might  be 
explained  by  a  heavily  laden  packhorse  making  frequent 
stops  on  the  difficult  descent. 

I  had  left  the  Black  Boulder  claim  after  an  early 
dinner,  almost  as  the  sun  crossed  the  meridian.  All  the 
morning  I  had  watched  the  water  in  the  sluice  lower 
perceptibly  with  each  passing  minute.  At  eleven,  it  was 
hardly  over  the  riffles  and  was  not  strong  enough  to  move 
the  sand  in  its  current.  There  was  no  use  working 
longer  with  the  shovel.  I  cleaned  up  what  little  gold 
was  caught  in  the  cross-slats,  horned  it,  put  away  my 
tools  in  the  shack,  caught  Zim  and  started  for  home. 
Mining  for  the  year,  barely  begun,  was  over.  The  great 
pile  of  pay-dirt  I  had  spent  a  laborious  month  in  gath 
ering  was  not  one-third  gone.  And  I,  the  sole  owner 
of  as  rich  a  gravel  claim  as  there  was  in  Plumas  County, 
with  good  values  from  the  surface  to  bed-rock,  gold  that 
clung  even  to  the  grass  roots,  was  homeward  bound 
without  enough  dust  in  my  poke  to  make  me  worry 
over  the  possibility  of  a  thief  in  the  following  horse 
man. 

We  stopped  in  the  river  while  Zim  buried  his  nose  in 
its  cold  waters.  Night  was  settling  fast.  A  quail 
whistled  in  the  alders  beside  the  stream,  to  be  answered 

15 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

from  the  edge  of  the  field  beyond  the  ford.  There  was 
the  twittering  of  birds  arranging  themselves  for  the 
night  on  the  twigs  of  the  thicket.  Behind  me,  on  the 
mountainside,  a  rock  came  bounding  down,  tearing  its 
way  through  the  scrub. 

Something  had  dislodged  that  stone  to  start  its  hur 
ried  descent.  Zim's  nose  had  come  from  the  water  to 
sniff  the  air.  Again  he  whinnied.  There  was  no  an 
swer.  The  rock,  after  a  couple  of  faltering  pauses  on 
the  steep  hill,  found  a  hold  against  gravity  and  stopped. 
All  was  still  but  the  noises  of  the  swirling  river.  With 
a  curiosity  to  see  who  was  using  my  trail  to  the  Black 
Boulder,  I  dropped  the  reins  over  the  saddle  horn,  threw 
a  leg  across  the  pummel,  and  waited. 

This  was  my  third  dry  spring  on  the  Black  Boulder 
claim  and  it  would  be  my  last.  There  had  been  years 
before  my  father's  death  when  water  was  plentiful  in 
the  sluices  for  weeks,  even  months;  when  the  top  and 
sides  of  Old  Baldy,  deep  covered  with  winter  snows,  had 
melted  slowly  and  with  little  waste  of  the  precious  fluid. 
The  claim  had  paid  well  then.  It  held  no  lack  of  gold, 
but  without  water  might  as  well  be  sand.  Except  for 
the  streams  from  the  melting  snow,  there  was  not  even 
a  spring  on  all  Baldy's  sides ;  and  because  the  mountain 
stood  alone  on  the  edge  of  the  range  of  Sierra  Nevadas, 
there  was  no  chance  of  a  flume  or  pipe  to  bring  water 
to  it. 

My  claim,  the  sole  inheritance  from  my  father,  had 

16 


A  Turn  in  the  Trail 

proved  a  hindrance,  not  a  help,  to  me.  I  was  sixteen, 
and  my  chances  for  an  education  were  passing  with  the 
years,  for  with  the  failure  of  a  clean-up  at  the  diggings, 
it  was  necessary  for  me  to  find  work  on  the  ranches  and 
that  kept  me  from  school.  This  should  be  my  last  spring 
on  Old  Baldy,  I  repeated  to  myself,  as  I  waited,  listen 
ing  for  the  sounds  that  would  tell  of  the  approach  of 
the  follower. 

Impatient  to  get  on  to  where  he  knew  oats  and  hay 
waited  for  him,  Zim  pawed  the  water  to  send  cold  drops 
against  my  face.  I  had  given  whoever  started  that 
stone  rolling  plenty  of  time  to  catch  up  with  me,  and 
there  wasn't  sight  or  sound  of  him.  There  was  no  place 
to  turn  off  the  trail,  so  he  must  have  stopped.  Well,  my 
curiosity  was  not  strong  enough  to  keep  me  here  all 
night,  while  a  supper  waited  in  one  of  the  cottages  which 
showed  glimmering  lights  ahead  in  Jamesville.  I  threw 
my  leg  around,  kicked  a  foot  into  the  stirrup,  and  Zim 
took  the  steep  bank  with  enthusiasm  and  an  equal 
hunger. 

The  trail  turned  into  El  Dorado,  Jamesville's  one 
business  street,  a  little  above  the  Gilson  House.  I  hoped 
its  guests  were  inside  at  supper  so  that  I  would  not  have 
to  listen  to  their  jibes  and  jokes.  My  mine — as  these 
ranchers  called  the  crude  workings — was  one  of  the 
town's  standard  subjects  for  hilarity;  my  departure  for 
it  in  April  was  the  occasion  of  many  joshes  and  sarcastic 
prophecies;  my  return  would  be  greeted  by  shouted 

17 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

witticisms  from  the  hotel  porch.  It  was  pretty  dark; 
I  might  get  by  unscathed.  I  kicked  Zim  into  a  trot. 

"  Hi !  Ted !  That  you  ?  "  a  voice  hailed  me  from  thf 
shadows,  and  a  silhouetted  figure  came  running  to< 
ward  me. 

"  Whoa,  Zim.  Hello,  Lem."  I  stopped  and  waited 
for  him. 

"  What  luck? "  A  city  boy,  Lem  could  not  read  the 
story  of  my  luck  written  plain  on  the  mountain'?* 
side. 

"  None;  too  short  a  run  of  water.  How  goes  it  witk 
you?" 

"  Bad  as  ever,"  he  grinned.  He  was  tow-headed  and 
freckled,  a  year  younger  than  I. 

"Still  with  Wayne?"  I  asked.  Wayne  ran  the 
Gilson  House. 

"  Still  chambermaid  of  the  stables  at  nothing  per 
week.  Can't  you  come  over  to-night,  Ted?  " 

"  Not  to-night.  See  you  to-morrow  though.  Good 
bye,"  and  I  went  on  my  way. 

Lem  had  been  almost  a  year  at  Jamesville,  sent  there, 
it  was  said,  by  the  Juvenile  Court  of  San  Francisco  for 
some  offense  the  details  of  which  I  did  not  know.  It 
was  supposed  to  be  a  correctional  measure  rather  than 
a  punishment,  but  the  Judge  couldn't  have  known  Mr. 
Wayne.  Working  for  him  was  little  better  than  life 
at  the  State's  prison,  I  guessed,  for  the  little  good 
nature  that  bloomed  in  Wayne's  system  was  needed  for 

18 


A  Turn  in  the  Trail 

the  hotel's  guests,  and  none  of  its  fragrance  could  be 
wasted  on  the  help. 

I  was  one  of  Lem's  few  friends  in  Jamesville.  Even 
Mother  Laing,  with  whom  I  lived,  and  the  kindest 
of  women,  was  distrustful  of  the  boy.  Of  course,  the 
story  of  his  past  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  the  feeling 
of  suspicion  against  him,  but  it  wasn't  all  that.  Lem 
was  different  from  the  boys  of  Indian  Valley ;  shrewder, 
more  cunning  arid  secretive.  Even  I  didn't  always 
trust  him.  He  was  small,  thin,  wiry ;  strong  enough  for 
all  his  delicate  look.  Until  he  grinned,  his  narrow  face 
held  a  look  of  crafty  slyness;  with  his  wide  smile,  it 
disappeared  in  cheeriness;  as  unexpected  a  change  as 
sunshine  breaking  through  fog.  There  were  no  reserva 
tions  to  my  liking  when  Lem  Strong  grinned. 

Hearing  Zim's  hoofs  on  the  hard  dirt  road,  Mother 
Laing,  carrying  a  lamp,  opened  the  side  door  and  stood 
in  its  frame,  calling: 

'  You  Ted  Wilson !  Hurry  in  here  and  get  your 
supper." 

"  Sure,  Mother  Laing;  soon's  I  put  up  Zim,"  and  I 
rode  off  to  the  barn.  She  had  known  I'd  be  home  to 
night;  had  kept  supper  waiting  for  me.  Just  as  good 
a  miner  as  there  was  in  the  hills,  better  than  most  of  the 
ranchers  of  Indian  Valley,  and  she  could  tell  from  the 
way  the  green  grass  took  the  place  of  white  snow  on 
Baldy's  sides,  as  it  stretched  high  away  to  the  east  be 
fore  her  door,  that  my  labors  there  must  end.  It  made 

19 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

the  telling  of  my  disappointment  easier,  knowing  she 
knew  it. 

"  Too  bad,  Ted,"  she  greeted  me  as  I  stamped  into 
the  big  kitchen.  "  How  much  does  it  tote  up?  " 

"  Not  six  ounces."  That  would  be  but  little  over  a 
hundred  dollars  and  was  the  smallest  sum  the  Black 
Boulder  had  ever  yielded  at  the  spring  run.  I  added, 
bitterly,  "  It  was  rich  gravel,  too.  I  could  have  cleaned 
up  thousands  if  the  water  had  held." 

"  Too  bad,"  wistfully.  My  misfortune  meant  added 
work  and  discomfort  for  her.  "  But  never  mind;  better 
luck  next  time." 

That  was  Mother  Laing's  way,  "  Never  mind  "  dis 
appointments,  and  "  Better  luck  "  for  the  future,  and 
it  had  always  cheered  me;  but  this  night  I  had  come  to 
the  turn  in  the  trail.  I  felt  willing  to  give  the  Black 
Boulder  away;  abandon  it.  I  ate  supper  in  silence, 
hardly  hearing  the  cheerful  gossip  of  my  five  weeks'  ab 
sence  from  town.  It  was  only  when  Mother  Laing  an 
nounced  that  Mr.  Wayne  had  called  twice  to  see  me  the 
last  week,  that  I  perked  up  to  ask: 

"  What  did  Wayne  want? " 

"  He  didn't  say.  He  was  real  anxious  to  know  when 
you'd  be  back,  and  I  told  him  to  watch  Old  Baldy.  The 
mountain  would  say  quicker  and  surer  than  I  could. 
He'll  be  'round  again  to-morrow,  I  guess." 

"  I'll  go  over  there  to-night.  Maybe  he's  a  job  to 
offer." 

20 


A  Turn  in  the  Trail 

"You'll  not  work  for  him,  Ted  Wilson!  I'll  not 
stand  for  that." 

"  Either  Wayne  or  the  ranches.  One's  about  as  bad 
as  the  other."  I  spoke  bitterly,  for  I  had  no  love  of 
farming.  Work  I  must,  for  the  money  I  had  earned  on 
the  claim  was  already  owing  to  Mother  Laing.  She 
was  a  widow,  and  when  Father  died  four  years  before, 
had  given  me  a  home  and  the  best  of  care ;  but  she  was 
hard-working,  washing  and  mending  for  the  farm 
ers'  families,  and  I  could  not  allow  her  to  support 
me. 

After  the  meal  I  walked  across  lots  to  the  hotel  and 
faced  the  joking  for  the  chance  of  seeing  Mr.  Wayne. 
He  was  not  in  the  office,  though  there  were  plenty  of 
his  lodgers  sitting  about  the  stove,  its  warmth  a  comfort 
those  spring  evenings,  and  they  began  the  time-worn 
pleasantries. 

"  Leave  any  gold  behind  in  Baldy  this  spring,  Ted?  " 
asked  Tom  White,  who  ran  the  dairy  for  Jamesville, 
"  or  didya  bring  it  all  down?  " 

"  Been  expectin'  you'd  be  borrying  my  hay  wagon  for 
to  haul  it,"  from  one  of  the  ranchers;  and  the  clerk  in 
the  clothing  store  cut  in  with : 

"  No.  Ted's  buying  one  of  these  auty-mobile  trucks 
to  handle  his  gold." 

I  smiled  through  it,  but  not  a  happy  smile.  It  was 
too  serious  for  joking  when  it  meant,  perhaps,  working 
for  Wayne  the  balance  of  the  year.  He  came  in  from 

21 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

the  dining-room,  through  the  door  behind  his  office 
counter,  picking  his  teeth. 

"  Hello,  Ted,"  he  said  amiably.  "Any  gold  left  on 
Baldy?  "  They  were  not  original  in  their  gibes. 

"  Some  few  grains,"  I  answered.  "  You  wanted  to 
see  me,  Mr.  Wayne." 

"  Why — sorta."  That  would  be  his  way  of  beginning 
negotiations;  not  too  encouragingly.  "  Come  inside 
here,"  and  he  lifted  the  section  of  the  desk  that  stood  for 
a  door.  I  went  in  to  take  a  chair  against  the  wall,  while 
he  tilted  back  in  his  and  worked  diligently  with  the  quill 
toothpick.  For  a  minute  he  eyed  me  slyly,  then  said, 
"  I  didn't  know  but  you  was  going  to  abandon  the  claim 
up  there." 

"  Black  Boulder? "  He  nodded.  "  No;  I've  the  as 
sessment  work  done  now  for  this  year." 

"  I  know;  and  not  wages  for  it  either.  How  much 
did  you  bring  down  with  you  for  the  run? " 

"  Not  a  great  deal;  the  water  gave  out  quickly." 

"  Sure;  it  always  gives  out  quickly.     How  much?" 

"  Six  ounces,"  I  answered  truthfully.  I  was  still 
thinking  this  was  merely  preliminary  to  the  offer  of  a 
job. 

"  Not  even  Chinaman's  wages,"  he  remarked  con 
temptuously,  as  he  whittled  tobacco  from  a  plug  to  fill 
his  pipe.  "  Want  to  sell  that  claim,  Ted? " 

That  came  as  a  surprise.  So  far  as  I  knew,  Wayne 
had  never  seen  my  diggings,  and  he  wasn't  the  kind 

22 


A  Turn  in  the  Trail 

to  buy  sight-unseen.     But  this  was  a  hopeful  begin 
ning. 

"  I  might/'  I  said,  a  little  too  quickly  for  clever  bar 
gaining.  "  What  will  you  offer?  " 

Slowly  he  scratched  a  match  and  held  it  in  the  bowl 
of  his  pipe  while  he  puffed  longer  than  was  necessary 
for  a  light.  "  It  isn't  worth  anything,"  he  said  finally. 
'  The  only  good  thing  about  it  is  it's  convenient  to  town 
here,  and  I  could  sort  of  keep  an  eye  on  it  with  a  Chink 
or  two  working  it  in  the  spring.  I'd  risk  a  hundred 
bucks  on  it." 

An  hour  before  I  had  thought  of  giving  it  away,  and 
here  was  my  opportunity  to  do  so;  instead,  I  got  up  from 
my  chair  with: 

"  Not  for  sale.  The  shack  on  the  claim  is  worth  more 
than  that." 

"  Yes,  it  might  be  if  it  wasn't  on  the  claim;  it  might 
make  a  real  good  fence  anywhere  anyone  would  need  a 
fence;  but  it  would  cost  more'n  it's  worth  to  bring  it 
down  here.  What  d'you  say  to  a  hundred  and  fifty? " 

"  No."  I  said  it  emphatically  and  I  started  for  the 
door.  Wayne  puffed  smoke  at  the  ceiling,  still  tilted 
back. 

"  You  climb  up  there  along  in  April  and  you  climb 
down  again  in  May,  and  you  ain't  enough  better  off 
to  pay  wear  and  tear  on  the  hoss.  Four  years  of  that, 
ain't  it?" 

"  Three,"  shortly. 

23 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  TKree  years,  and  not  Chinaman's  wages  in  it.  And 
each  year  the  snows  seem  to  go  off  swifter."  I  had 
stopped  at  the  gate  in  the  counter  and  was  listening, 
wondering  what  Wayne  had  up  his  sleeve.  All  he  said 
was  true  enough;  but  it  was  as  true  for  him  as  for  me. 
Mr.  Wayne  thought  just  as  highly  of  a  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  as  he  did  of  his  right  arm;  he  wouldn't  offer 
it,  even  so  little,  if  he  did  not  see  a  way  to  get  back 
many  times  the  amount,  and  that  quickly.  Then  I 
remembered  that  there  had  been  a  horseman  on  the  trail 
behind  me  that  afternoon.  Could  it  have  been  Wayne  ? 
Might  he  have  climbed  up  to  the  claim  and  taken  a 
squint  at  my  pile  of  pay-dirt? 

"  Did  you  ever  see  just  what  I've  done  up  there?  "  I 
asked.  The  hotel  proprietor  shook  his  head,  puffed 
slowly  and  said: 

"  No,  Ted;  but  I  can  guess  just  about  what  you  got 
there.  Pretty  good  gravel,  running  fair  in  values,  but 
impossible  to  handle  without  water " 

"  One  might  run  a  cable-tramway  down  the  hillside," 
I  cut  in,  "  and  carry  it  to  the  river " 

"  Uh  huh.  Spend  ten  or  fifteen  thousand  dollars  on 
the  chance  of  getting  back — what?  Even  at  that,  how 
many  yards  of  dirt  would  you  have  to  handle  to  the 
ounce  of  gold?" 

That  was  true,  too.  I'd  talked  with  Father  about  an 
aerial-tram  many  times,  and  he  had  the  same  questions 
of  doubt  that  Wayne  was  asking.  There  was  only  one 


A  Turn  in  the  Trail 

solution  to  Black  Boulder's  gravel,  and  that  was — 
water.  With  water  on  the  claim,  it  would  be  worth 
thousands — many  thousands;  without  water,  it  was 
worth  just  about  what  Wayne  offered;  not  that.  I 
lifted  the  counter  door.  One  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
would  set  me  square  with  Mother  Laing  and  leave  me 
enough  to  finish  the  spring  term  at  the  Crescent  Mill's 
high-school.  I  stood  in  the  counter  door.  I  might  earn 
enough  through  long  vacation  to  take  me  back  for  the 
fall  term ;  six  months  more  of  schooling,  perhaps ;  and  I 
needed  it. 

"  Say  two  hundred  dollars  cash,"  said  Wayne,  and 
that  was  his  mistake. 

"  The  claim  isn't  for  sale,"  I  replied,  and  I  dropped 
the  counter-top  behind  me.  Black  Boulder  was  getting 
valuable  too  rapidly.  If  Wayne  could  leap  from  a  hun 
dred  to  double  that  in  two  bounds,  I'd  do  well  to  hold  on 
a  while,  at  least.  I  started  out. 

"  Hold  on,  Ted,"  the  hotel  man  called  from  the  desk. 
I  came  back,  grudgingly.  I  didn't  want  to  listen  to 
good  reasons  for  accepting  his  offer.  I  knew  better 
reasons  than  he  could  think  up  for  just  that  thing;  first 
of  all,  that  I  owed  Mother  Laing  money.  When  I  was 
alongside,  he  lowered  his  voice. 

"  I  suppose  I'm  kind  of  a  fool,  Ted,  but  I  sympathize 
with  you  and  the  widow.  You've  had  hard  going,  both 
of  you,  and  it  ain't  because  you  won't  work.  I  want  to 
see  you  pull  out  of  the  muck.  Mrs.  Laing's  getting 

25 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

older  each  year,  and  she  ought  to  be  having  life  easier, 
not  harder.  I'll  make  my  offer  three  hundred,  just  out 
of  kindness  of  heart." 

Again,  every  word  true,  and  all  a  lie !  If  Wayne  had 
stuck  to  his  original  figure,  his  argument  would  have 
won;  but  that  raise  of  one  hundred  dollars,  "  out  of  kind 
ness  of  heart,"  was  convincing.  Somewhere  in  the 
wood-pile  was  a  nigger.  I  couldn't  see  him,  but  he  was 
hiding  there.  With  a  curt,  "  Thank  you,  no,"  I  walked 
out  of  the  hotel. 


26 


CHAPTER  II 

NEW  PLANS 

S  I  came  from  the  brightly  lighted  room  to  the 
intensified  darkness  of  the  porch,  I  was  startled 
by  a  hand  laid  on  my  arm  and  a  whispered, 
"  Psst! "  in  my  ear.  In  the  instant,  I  knew  it  was  Lem 
Strong,  and  I  followed  him  silently  down  the  length 
of  the  veranda  to  slip  off  its  further  end  and  run  with 
him  to  the  stables.  It  was  only  after  we  were  in  the 
far  stall  that  he  spoke,  and  then  it  was  in  whispers. 


A 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  I'm  going  to  run  away,  Ted,"  he  began.  "  I'm  go 
ing  to  hop  the  twig." 

"  But — how  can  you? "  I  was  startled  at  the  dis 
closure.  The  law  was  a  serious  matter  to  me.  "  They'll 
arrest  you." 

"  They'll  have  to  find  me  first,  and  that  will  keep  'em 
busy  for  a  long  while.  I  want  you  to  help  me." 

"  But— but "  I  was  full  of  "  buts."  I  didn't 

like  the  idea  at  all.  "  What  do  you  want  me  to  do, 
Lem?" 

"  Hold  on  till  I  tell  you  my  plans.  I  dassent  go  back 
to  San  Francisco;  they'd  catch  me  there  sure;  and  I 
haven't  money  to  go  far  in  any  direction.  So  I'm  going 
to  take  to  the  mountains  and  walk  to  the  next  town 
north — whatever  that  is — then  work  my  way  along  till 
I  get  to  Portland.  I'll  ride  the  brake-beams  on  freights, 
and- 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?    Where  do  you  think 

you    are? "      I    was    astounded    at    such    ignorance. 

'  Where  do  you  expect  to  find  a  railroad  in  these  hills?  " 

"  That's  what  I  want  of  you;  info.  If  I  was  to  ask 
any  of  these  people  about  town,  they'd  remember  and 
tell,  and  I'd  get  caught.  You'll  keep  mum." 

His  confidence  in  me  was  absolute,  and  no  matter  how 
much  I  dreaded  being  mixed  in  this  infraction  of  the 
law,  I  could  not  fail  him.  But  I  wasn't  encouraging 
as  I  explained: 

"  The  nearest  railroad  is  at  Quincy  and  that  is  miles 

28 


New  Plans 

over  the  range.  You'd  never  make  it.  And  if  you  did, 
you'd  have  to  work  your  way  clear  down  to  Sacramento 
before  you  could  ever  start  for  Oregon.  You'd " 

"  How  do  I  get  to  Quincy,  that's  what  I  want  of 
you,"  Lem  interrupted.  "  Never  mind  all  the  can't- 
do's.  Tell  me  the  road  to  Quincy." 

"  There  isn't  a  road;  just  a  trail.  And  probably  you 
couldn't  see  it  half  the  way,  it  will  be  so  overgrown  with 
spring  bushes.  I  wouldn't  be  sure  of  following  it  my 
self,  and  I  know  the  hills  well." 

"  Can  the  knock-stuff,  and  boost,  Ted,  boost!  Show 
me  one  end  of  that  path  over  the  mountains,  and  leave 
me  to  find  the  other.  Where  do  I  go  from  here?  " 

"  Right  up  the  valley  to  Engels,  where  you  hit  the 
trail  at  the  east  end  of  the  bridge.  It  leads  over 
Himmel's  Pass,  and  you'll  have  no  trouble,  probably, 
till  you  cross  the  summit.  From  there  on  the  trail  is 
pretty  bad,  but  you  keep  hiking  southeast  along  the 
slope  of  Morris  Mountain  till  you  dip  into  Green  River 
Canon.  Follow  that  down  to  the  valley,  and  the  rest 
is  easy.  There  are  ranches  in  the  bottom." 

Lem  repeated  the  instructions,  and  I  amplified  them 
here  and  there,  until  it  seemed  to  me  he  couldn't  miss 
the  trail.  On  foot,  as  I  told  him,  it  should  take  between 
three  and  four  days;  I'd  made  it  in  three.  And  I  fin 
ished  with  the  advice,  should  he  get  lost,  to  travel 
steadily  southeast  by  the  sun  until  he  struck  Green 
River. 

29 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  Oh,  well/'  he  said  jauntily,  "  if  I  do  get  off  the  road 
I  can  ask  somebody  the  way." 

"Ask  whom?  "  I  said.  "  You're  going  to  see  nobody 
after  you  leave  Engels  until  you  reach  Green  River  bot 
toms.  Not  a  soul.  There'll  be  no  travel  on  the  trail 
yet."  And  that  reminded  me  of  the  traveler  who  had 
followed  me  down  my  trail  that  afternoon.  "  Lem," 
I  said,  "  did  anyone  come  to  the  hotel  this  evening  after 
I  went  by,  riding  a  horse?  " 

"  You  mean  a  stranger?  " 

"Anybody." 

Lem  thought  a  minute,  then  shook  his  head.  "  Pon 
Sing,  the  China  boy,  Lee  Fong's  helper,  rode  in  about 
half -past  seven.  He'd  been  over  to  Crescent  Mills  buy 
ing  potatoes.  Nobody  else." 

Pon  Sing  couldn't  have  been  behind  me  if  he  had 
come  from  Crescent.  I  left  Lem,  after  advising  him 
against  any  rash  action,  and  went  home  to  find  Mother 
Laing  in  the  living-room  with  a  basket  of  socks  to  darn. 
She  greeted  me  with  the  question: 

"  What  did  Mr.  Wayne  want?  " 

"  Made  me  an  offer  for  the  Black  Boulder,"  I  said, 
getting  a  book  from  the  shelves  and  pulling  an  easy- 
chair  around  under  the  lamp.  She  gave  a  little  snort 
which  expressed  her  opinion  of  Wayne  and  any  offer 
he'd  make.  I  opened  the  book  as  though  to  read,  know 
ing  it  was  the  best  way  to  get  her  started  in  conversa 
tion. 

30 


New  Plans 

"  How  much  did  he  bid?  "  she  asked  finally. 

"  Three  hundred." 

"  Pooh!     Does  he  call  that  an  offer?  " 

"  It  was  his  fourth  attempt.  He  began  at  one  hun 
dred,"  I  explained.  "  I'm  afraid  three  hundred  is  as 
much  as  it's  worth." 

"  Now,  Ted  Wilson,  you  know  better  than  that. 
That  claim  is  worth  thousands — not  hundreds.  Your 
father  spent  more  than  three  hundred  dollars  on  the 
house  and  flumes,  let  alone  your  work  there.  And 
there's  rich  gold  in  the  gravel." 

"And  no  water."  It  was  an  old  argument  between 
Mother  Laing  and  me.  Every  year  when  I  came  home 
discouraged,  ready  to  abandon  the  claim,  she  would  dis 
suade  me;  but  this  was  the  first  offer  of  money  I  had 
had  for  it.  I  went  on,  "  Mother  Laing,  I  am  going  to 
leave  it  to  you  whether  the  Black  Boulder  is  sold  or  not. 
I  do  not  think  Wayne  has  made  his  last  bid.  He  may 
raise  his  offer.  I'm  going  to  leave  you  to  deal  with 
him." 

"And  where  will  you  be?  "  she  asked,  smiling. 

"  Hunting  another  claim — with  water  on  it."  This 
was  the  result  of  my  thinking  of  several  days  and  part 
of  several  nights.  :<  I'm  going  prospecting." 

She  laid  aside  her  work,  took  the  glasses  from  her 
clear,  gray  eyes.  For  a  long  time  she  looked  at  me  be 
fore  she  said: 

"  I've  been  expecting  that,  Ted.     Each  year  when 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

you  have  returned  discouraged,  I  have  dreaded  to  hear 
you  say  those  words.  But  it's  a  part  of  your  inheritance, 
I  guess,  and  must  work  itself  out  of  the  blood.  Your 
father  wasted  almost  a  lifetime  in  prospecting.  All 
these  western  mountains  from  Washington  to  Mexico 
he  hunted  for  gold,  and  never  found  anything  that  paid 
him  more  than  the  gravel  claim  on  Baldy.  Do  you 
remember  what  his  last  words  to  you  were?  " 

"  He  said  there  was  gold  in  the  grass  roots." 

"  Yes;  and  that  far-away  gold  always  shone  brighter 
than  what  rimmed  the  pan,  and  the  search  for  it  was  a 
chase  after  the  mirage.  He  wanted  you  to  stick  by  the 
gravel  claim,  Ted." 

"  I  know;  but  he  wouldn't  have  stuck  for  three  dry 
years " 

"  No,  he  wouldn't;  and,  knowing  he  wouldn't,  he  ad 
vised  you  to  do  it.  Give  up  the  idea  of  prospecting, 
Ted,  and  wait  for  next  spring  with  the  hope  of  better 
luck." 

I  came  to  my  feet  and  returned  the  unread  book  to  its 
place.  My  resolution  had  been  made  slowly,  thought 
fully,  over  camp-fires  and  under  the  stars.  I  was  six 
teen,  but  for  three  years  I  had  supported  myself  by  hard 
work,  and  was  older  than  my  age;  was  steady  with  per 
haps  an  over-confidence  in  my  ability  to  take  care  of 
myself.  As  I  turned  to  Mother  Laing  to  answer  her 
arguments,  I  felt  sure  of  my  sound  judgment  and  the 
practicability  of  my  plans. 

32 


New  Plans 

"  I'd  hate  to  do  anything  you  didn't  approve,"  I  said, 
"  but  I've  studied  this  out  carefully.  There's  nothing 
at  the  Black  Boulder  that  can  be  touched  until  next 
spring.  If  I  stay  in  Jamesville,  I  must  work  on  a 
ranch  for  barely  enough  to  support  myself.  In  the 
mountains,  even  if  I  find  no  gold,  I  can  live  for  almost 
nothing — I'll  be  only  a  little  worse  off.  And  I  can 
post-hole  for  pockets." 

"  Post-holing  isn't  easy  work,  Ted." 

"  No.  Pocket  hunting  is  hard  work,  and  it  isn't  sure. 
But  I'm  not  trying  to  dodge  hard  work,  only  to  get 
away  from  uninteresting  work;  do  something  where 
there's  a  chance  to  make  a  real  gain.  You  can't  live 
this  mending,  washing  life  forever,  and  I  want  a  better 
education.  I'm  going  to  give  four  months  to  trying  to 
find  a  real  gold  mine." 

"  When  do  you  want  to  start? "  Mother  Laing  gave 
way  with  a  little  sigh  and  the  most  hopeful  of  smiles. 
That  was  her  method  of  taking  life.  If  it  came  against 
her  ideas,  she  accepted  tranquilly  and  trusted  results 
would  prove  life  right  and  her  ideas  wrong. 

'  To-morrow  morning  early,"  I  said  quickly.  "  I'll 
leave  you  all  the  gold  I  brought  down  with  me,  and  you 
can  sell  the  Black  Boulder  for  whatever  you  can  get  for 
it  if  you  want.  I'll  take  Zim  and  what  grub  he  can 
pack,  and  get  into  the  hills." 

"  Come  into  the  kitchen  and  we'll  see  what  we  can 
find,"  and  I  picked  up  the  lamp  and  led  the  way  to  the 

33 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

storeroom  door,  where  for  the  next  hour  we  fought 
laughingly  over  the  contents  of  Zim's  next  day's  pack. 
If  Mother  Laing  had  been  allowed  her  way.  my  horse 
would  have  staggered  under  a  load  of  eatables  to  make 
travel  impossible.  Only  by  arithmetical  calculations 
that  proved  totals  of  weight  beyond  equine  strength 
could  I  prevent  her  from  adding  comforts  to  the  stores 
that  she  piled  upon  table  and  chairs,  insisting  that  I 
should  need  them.  A  side  of  bacon  and  a  sack  of  flour 
were  the  absolute  necessities;  and  to  these  I  added  white 
beans,  rice,  coffee,  salt,  pepper  and  baking-powder. 
That  was  the  limit.  To  Mother  Laing's  pleas  for  sugar 
and  canned  milk,  potatoes  and  dried  prunes.  I  was 
laughingly  callous,  and  I  begged  her  to  think  of  Zim's 
troubles.  When  I  had  finally  replaced  the  many  things 
she  wished  to  give  me,  and  had  closed  the  door  of 
the  storeroom  and  set  my  back  against  it,  I  said  hap- 
pfly: 

"Xot  another  ounce  of  food  weight,  please!  Zim 
must  make  thirty  miles  a  day  on  mountain  trails,  and 
he'll  look  like  a  moving-van  now.  I'll  eat  all  the  rest  of 
the  food  when  I  come  back." 

"And  when  will  that  be,  Ted?  " 

"  Don't  expect  me  before  the  first  of  September.  If 
there's  a  chance,  I'll  send  you  a  letter  now  and  then,  but 
as  I'm  going  deep  into  the  hills,  maybe  I'll  see  nobody 
all  the  time  Fm  gone." 

"  Where  do  you  head  for? " 

34 


New  Plans 

"  The  Eagle  Lake  country.  Father  always  said 
there  was  gold  in  there,  and  I  mean  to  find  it." 

She  laughed.  '  You  get  to  bed,  Ted,  and  have  your 
dreams  while  you  sleep."  As  I  started  to  obey  her,  she 
called  me  back.  "  You're  much  like  your  father,  my 
boy ;  and  your  father  was  a  fine  man,  even  though  he  was 
a  dreamer  of  waking-dreams.  I  wish  you  all  the  suc 
cess  in  the  world,  Ted.  Good-night." 


35 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  HIGH  SIERRAS 

I  CLIMBED  out  of  bed  long  before  sunrise  next 
morning,  dressed  quietly,  not  to  waken  Mother 
Laing,  started  a  fire  in  the  kitchen  stove  and  placed 
coffee  to  boil  before  I  went  to  the  pasture  and  whistled 
for  Zim.    He  came  to  the  bars  dashingly,  as  though  to 
prove  to  me  that  the  years  had  taken  none  of  his  speed 
and  agility.     I  slipped  the  halter  over  his  nose  with: 
"  Take  it  easy,  horse.     There's  a  hard  pull  ahead  for 

36 


The  High  Sierras 

you,"  and  he  muzzled  my  shoulder,  his  cold  nose  against 
my  ear,  as  he  followed  me  to  the  stable. 

While  he  ate  his  breakfast,  I  saddled  him  carefully, 
his  own  blanket,  then  mine,  folded  beneath  the  leather; 
the  cinch  tight  but  not  binding;  and  I  began  packing 
with  an  even  distribution  of  the  load.  Two  burlap 
sacks  with  the  bulk  of  the  weight  were  so  roped  together 
that  they  hung  high  one  on  either  stirrup-flap  and  gave 
a  foundation  for  lighter  but  bulkier  stuff  which  must 
make  up  the  load.  In  the  burlaps  were  my  provisions, 
oats  for  Zim,  extra  clothing,  towels  and  soap.  Matches 
were  in  corked  brass  cartridge  shells,  absolutely  water 
proof,  in  a  canvas  bag  with  a  coffee-pot,  a  small  boiling- 
pot,  two  tin  plates,  a  tin  cup,  knife,  fork  and  spoon. 
This  was  tied  across  the  saddle  seat,  with  another  sack 
behind  it,  hitched  to  the  cantle,  in  which  rattled  a  fry 
ing-pan  and  my  miner's  pan,  a  horn  spoon,  a  deep  iron 
spoon  big  enough  to  melt  metal  over  fire,  and  a  pros 
pector's  hammer.  When  these  four  sacks  had  been 
firmly  fastened  with  Zim's  picket-rope  to  Zim's  back,  I 
poked  in  between  their  coils  and  his  sides,  a  poll-pick,  a 
long  handled  shovel,  and  an  axe,  hung  over  the  pummel 
my  repeating  rifle  in  its  leathern  boot  and  a  large  can 
teen  filled  with  water,  strung  a  belt  of  cartridges  over 
the  cantle  to  lash  at  its  rings,  then  stood  back  to  inspect 
my  work.  It  was  a  heavy  pack,  two  hundred  pounds 
at  least,  but  it  was  well  distributed.  Zim  could  carry  it. 

I  had  no  shotgun,  and  when  one  is  starting  into  the 

37 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

wilderness  on  a  four  months'  expedition  with  only  what 
he  can  carry  on  one  packhorse,  a  shotgun  for  the  killing 
of  small  game  is  important.  Among  my  father's  effects 
was  an  old-fashioned  army  revolver,  one  of  those 
weapons  of  Civil  War  times  with  a  cylinder  of  five 
chambers  that  is  loaded  each  time  with  powder  and  ball 
and  a  percussion  cap.  I  should  substitute  bird  shot  for 
the  bullet,  and  as  the  rifling  of  the  barrel  had  pretty 
well  rusted  away,  hoped  to  be  able  to  kill  small  game  at 
short  distances.  I'd  never  tried  it  out — in  fact,  it  was 
only  when  the  remembrance  of  the  need  of  a  shotgun 
had  come  to  me  after  I  had  gone  to  bed  the  previous 
night  that  I,  racking  my  brain,  lit  upon  the  scheme — but 
it  seemed  feasible. 

Mother  Laing  had  called  breakfast  twice  before  I 
finished  packing,  so  I  went  up  to  the  house.  If  she  had 
endeavored  to  make  me  sorry  at  leaving  home,  her  effort 
at  this  last  breakfast  was  not  wasted.  Here  were  all 
the  things  I  should  miss  in  the  mountains,  a  broiled 
steak,  fried  eggs,  fluffy  biscuits  with  butter,  real  cream 
in  the  coffee,  and  doughnuts  that  melted  in  my  mouth. 
I  admit  to  a  wistfulness  that  didn't  affect  my  appetite 
any,  and  I  ate  as  though  this  one  meal  must  last  all  the 
time  of  my  absence.  When  it  was  through,  when  I  had 
positively  refused  an  added  piece  of  jelly  cake,  she 
gathered  together  enough  of  the  remaining  food  to  fill  a 
large  paper  sack,  which  she  handed  me  with  the  explana 
tion: 

38 


The  High  Sierras 

"  You'll  not  have  to  pack  it  long,  Ted.  Only  a  lunch 
to  eat  on  the  trail." 

Then  she  went  with  me  to  the  barn  and  watched  my 
final  preparations.  I  slung  the  heavy  revolver,  together 
with  the  shot-pouch  and  powder  horn,  over  my  shoul 
ders,  went  all  around  Zim  testing  the  firmness  of  the 
bindings  of  the  pack,  slipped  the  bridle  bit  into  his 
mouth  and  buckled  the  throat  latch,  leaving  the  halter 
on,  and  led  him  out  on  the  driveway. 

"Why,  where  you  going  to  ride?"  Mother  Laing 
asked  in  surprise  at  the  loaded  horse. 

"  1*11  walk  and  lead.  Zim  has  more  now  than  he's 
used  to  lugging  and  it's  going  to  be  a  hard  climb. 
Good-bye,  Mother  Laing." 

"  You'll  be  back  when  you've  eaten  all  the  food,  and 
that'll  not  be  long,"  she  said  hopefully,  as  she  watched 
me  tie  the  paper  sack  to  the  saddle.  "  I'll  give  you  two 
weeks  before  you're  ready  to  come  back  to  my  cook 
ing." 

"  Don't  begin  baking  until  the  first  of  September." 
I  put  an  arm  about  her  and  gave  her  a  good  hug. 
"And  if  Wayne  comes  at  you  with  an  offer  for  the 
Black  Boulder,  you  sell." 

"  If  he  offers  what  I  think's  due  for  it,  I'll  listen  to 
him ;  but  he  never  will."  She  came  with  me  to  the  gate, 
and  I  led  Zim  through.  "  Good  luck  to  you,  Ted ;  and 
no  matter  what  luck,  come  back  to  me.  You're  the 
only  son  I've  got." 

39 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

I  left  her  there  waving  her  apron  in  farewell,  and  I 
started  down  through  Main  Street,  where  I  had  some 
small  purchases  to  make  at  the  general  store.  Early  as 
it  was,  Lem  was  out  at  the  side  of  the  Gilson  House 
currying  one  of  the  horses,  while  Mr.  Wayne,  his  chair 
tilted  back  and  his  feet  on  the  porch  railing,  smoked  a 
pipe  and  kept  a  critical  eye  on  the  job.  The  latter 
hailed  me  with: 

"  Changed  your  mind  over  night?  "  I  shook  my  head 
in  answer,  and  his  feet  came  down  to  the  floor  with  a 
bang;  then  he  poked  his  hands  deep  in  his  pockets  and 
sauntered  out  to  me,  adding,  "  Going  back  up  to  the 
claim? " 

"  I'm  heading  for  it,"  I  answered  cautiously.  There 
was  something  in  Wayne's  manner,  more  than  in  the 
questions  themselves,  that  made  me  study  his  face  care 
fully.  Why  should  he  be  worried  because  I  had  started 
back  up  Baldy — or  he  thought  I  had?  In  his  expres 
sion  was  astonishment,  dismay,  as  he  said: 

"  I  thought  the  water  had  all  run  off  the  slope." 

"  It  has."     I  spoke  without  consideration. 

"  Then  why  in  Tophet  be  you  going  back  up  there? 
You  can't  mine  without  water." 

There  was  no  answer  to  that  argument,  even  if  I  had 
wanted  to  lie  to  him.  "  I'm  just  passing  by  it  on  my 
way  into  the  hills,"  I  told  him.  "  I'm  off  on  a  prospect 
ing  trip." 

It  was  wonderful  the  way  his  grim  face  lightened,  just 

40 


The  High  Sierras 

as  though  a  weight  had  been  lifted  from  his  mind,  as  he 
said  eagerly: 

"  Sell  me  the  Black  Boulder  before  you  go,  Ted;  I'll 
make  it  three-fifty,  and  my  last  bid." 

"Get  up,  Zim!"  I  started  the  horse  into  motion. 
"  You  talk  with  Sirs.  Laing  about  the  claim,  Mr. 
Wayne.  Whatever  she  says  goes  with  me,"  and  I  left 
him  standing  in  the  road,  watching  the  dust  old  Zim 
shuffled  up. 

Just  out  of  sight  of  the  hotel,  in  a  group  of  acacias,  I 
found  Lem  waiting  for  me,  and  he  came  to  join  me  with 
a  plea  that  was  hard  to  deny. 

"  Take  me  with  you,  Ted,"  he  cried.  "  Take  me  out 
of  old  Wayne's  grip.  It's  awful  here.  He  beats  me 
almost  every  day.  Let  me  go  with  you." 

I  couldn't.  If  desire  to  help  him,  if  sympathy  for 
him,  are  in  violation  of  the  law,  I  was  guilty.  I  had 
even  advanced  the  aid  of  information.  But  I  could  not 
be  a  party  to  his  escape  from  the  orders  of  the  court. 
That  I  did  not  want  him  with  me,  that  I  could  not  give 
him  full  trust  and  confidence,  had  no  effect  then  upon 
my  decision.  I  was  explaining  my  position  as  best  I 
could,  when  a  shout  from  the  hotel  stopped  me,  and  Lem 
immediately  took  to  his  heels  in  response  to: 

"  Hi,  you  loafing  Lem  Strong!  Get  back  here  quick 
now,  or  I'll  come  get  you! "  It  was  Wayne  in  a  rage. 

I  stopped  at  the  Sierra  Commercial  Company's  store, 
bought  powder,  shot  and  caps  for  my  pistol,  then  started 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

on  the  trail  for  the  Black  Boulder  claim.  It  was  out  of 
my  way,  would  require  several  miles  of  additional  hard 
journeying,  but  I  wanted  to  look  along  the  dirt  of  the 
trail  for  the  confirming  hoof -prints  of  the  horse  I  felt 
sure  had  been  somewhere  behind  me  the  previous  even 
ing,  and  have  a  glance  over  my  works  on  the  claim  to 
find  what  could  have  interested  Wayne  to  a  sudden  de 
sire  for  purchase.  He  had  offered  three  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  for  what  he  had  jeered  at  and  regarded  as 
a  joke  ever  since  my  father  staked  it.  I  might  guess  his 
reason  if  I  was  on  the  place;  certainly  I  could  not  im 
agine  one  here. 

The  trail  was  a  good  one,  and  Zim  and  I  could  walk 
abreast  much  of  the  way.  Behind  us  in  the  valley  the 
sun  was  bright  on  the  fields  and  the  little  village,  but  we 
were  in  the  shadow  of  the  hill  where  it  was  cool  climbing. 
The  ascent  was  by  a  switchback  trail  that  climbed  rap 
idly,  and  soon  we  were  high  above  Jamesville,  its  red 
brick  and  gray  board  buildings,  dwarfed  as  I  looked 
down  upon  them.  Mother  Laing's  house  was  concealed 
by  a  group  of  live  oaks,  but  I  thought  I  saw  a  flicker  of 
her  apron  out  by  the  barn;  hunting  eggs,  I  guessed. 

"  Give  your  old  home  a  long  farewell,"  I  said  to  Zim, 
pulling  his  head  about;  but  he  was  more  interested  in 
the  manzanita  brush  beside  the  trail,  which  he  sampled 
only  to  reject. 

I  had  found  the  prints  of  a  horse's  hoofs  in  the  soft 
ground  at  the  ford,  but  here  the  trail  was  too  much  rock 

42 


The  High  Sierras 

and  too  little  dirt  for  any  evidence  of  a  passing  animal 
to  show.  Soon  a  turn  in  the  zigzag  brought  me  into 
the  sunlight  and  shortly  I  lightened  myself  of  pistol, 
ammunition  and  coat,  adding  them  to  Zim's  pack; 
climbing  was  hot  work.  Even  the  rugged  mountain 
horse  was  damp  with  perspiration.  I  gave  him  frequent 
pauses  at  the  ends  of  the  switchbacks,  nor  did  I  neglect 
the  opportunities  of  sitting  down  to  rest. 

Finally  we  came  to  where  the  trail  turned  into  the 
gully  which  was  the  tail-creek  of  my  sluices,  now  dry  as 
a  bone.  There  had  been  some  water  running  over  the 
broken  rock  and  gravel  when  I  left,  not  twenty-four 
hours  before,  but  even  in  so  short  a  time  it  had  been 
drawn  up  by  the  sun.  And  it  was  here  I  found  proof 
that  there  had  been  another  horse  besides  Zim  on  my 
claim,  for  in  the  dried  mud  was  the  print  of  a  shod  hoof. 
In  crossing  the  tail-creek's  narrow  width,  one  hoof  had 
been  pressed  to  leave  its  impression. 

A  horse  in  the  mountains  is  not  of  itself  cause  for  even 
a  second  thought.  There  were  probably  a  dozen  or 
more  turned  loose  to  graze  on  the  grass  that  follows  the 
snows  with  almost  miraculous  rapidity  on  Baldy's  sides. 
True,  they  rarely  came  so  high  up  as  the  Black  Boulder 
claim;  preferred  the  less  rocky  meadows  on  the  lower 
slopes;  but  the  print  of  a  hoof,  or  the  sight  of  a  horse, 
would  not  have  been  strange  enough  for  comment.  But 
this  horse  had  followed  behind  me,  at  least  as  far  as  the 
river,  and  this  horse  had  kept  out  of  my  sight  throughout 

43 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

the  several  hours  it  had  pursued  me.  That  required 
more  than  equine  intelligence;  a  man  was  on,  or  with, 
that  horse ;  and  that  man  had  reasons  for  not  wanting  me 
to  see  him. 

We  climbed  slowly  up  to  the  diggings,  steaming  in 
the  heat,  and  my  eyes  went  over  the  familiar  workings 
hunting  signs  of  an  intruder:  the  pile  of  pay-dirt,  partly 
used;  the  badly  hammered  grizzly,  the  long  stretch  of 
sluices.  All  seemed  exactly  as  I  had  left  it,  and  my  eyes 
turned  to  the  cabin. 

It  stood  with  its  door  wide  open.  Surely  I  had  closed 
and  secured  it  yesterday  when  I  left.  I  recalled  dis 
tinctly  placing  the  padlock  through  the  staples  and 
springing  it.  Someone  had  opened  the  door. 

A  glance  within  showed  me  that  nothing  had  been 
taken ;  in  fact,  there  was  nothing  worth  taking ;  old  min 
ing  tools,  too  worn  to  have  value ;  pots  and  pans  that  had 
smoked  black  over  the  fire;  a  few  aged  dishes.  There 
seemed  no  reason  here  for  the  labor  of  pulling  a  hasp 
from  the  solid  door-frame  to  force  an  entrance,  and  so 
far  as  I  could  find,  nothing  had  been  moved  or  dis 
turbed. 

Without  waiting  for  the  lunch  I  had  intended  to  eat 
here,  I  washed  out  Zim's  dry  mouth  with  a  spongeful 
of  water  from  the  canteen,  and  continued  on  my  way, 
studying  over  the  problem  of  the  visitor  at  the  claim. 
No  matter  from  what  angle  I  approached  it,  I  could  get 
no  answer.  Wayne,  I  knew,  had  not  been  there  him- 

44 


The  High  Sierras 

self,  nor  could  I  believe  he  had  sent  someone  else  to  look 
over  the  property  before  making  his  offer  of  purchase, 
for  the  merest  dabbler  at  mining  could  see  the  impossi 
bilities;  besides,  why  should  he  break  into  my  cabin?  A 
wandering  prospector,  a  cattleman  searching  for  strays, 
a  hunter  after  mountain  game — none  would  violate  the 
lock  of  a  mine-shack.  Besides,  any  honest  man  would 
have  tried  to  catch  up  with  me  on  the  trail,  not  stay 
hidden  behind.  It  didn't  seem  to  have  an  answer,  and 
I  put  it  out  of  mind. 

There  was  no  trail  over  the  hog-back — the  ridge  that 
separated  Baldy  from  Summer's  Peak — but  it  was 
above  the  manzanita  and  would  be  fair  traveling.  I 
could  reach  it  by  the  gully  that  brought  the  water  to  my 
sluices,  so  led  Zim  up  the  dry  arroyo.  Never  before 
had  I  gone  more  than  half  a  mile  up  this  watercourse, 
and  only  once  or  twice  to  clear  it  from  some  clog  when 
it  was  feeding  the  boxes.  There  were  bushes  along  it 
and  an  occasional  stunted  oak  or  lilac,  but  we  made  no 
difficulty  of  the  first  part  of  the  ascent.  Now  and  then 
smaller  gullies  came  in  from  the  side-hill,  all  dry ;  and  at 
one  of  these  I  stopped  for  a  minute,  trying  to  decide 
which  was  the  main  stream,  which  the  fork.  Because  its 
trend  was  to  the  north,  the  direction  I  wished  to  go,  I 
chose  that  branch,  to  find  myself  in  almost  immediate 
difficulties.  Plant  growth  should  have  dwarfed  as  I 
climbed  higher,  but  here  in  the  gully  were  mesquites 
taller  than  any  I  had  passed.  They  were  ten  and 

45 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

twelve  feet  high,  with  branches  that  caught  at  my 
clothes,  slapped  against  my  face  and  at  Zim's  withers. 

As  the  banks  of  the  arroyo  were  too  steep  to  climb  at 
this  point,  Zim  and  I  pushed  ahead  until  our  way  was 
completely  blocked  by  the  mesquite  growth.  No  longer 
brush,  these  were  mesquite  trees,  thirty  to  forty  feet 
high,  with  branches  that  could  not  be  bent  aside  to  make 
passageway.  I  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  this  freak 
of  Baldy's  surface,  these  gigantic  mesquites,  and  tying 
Zim  to  one  of  the  low  branches,  I  pushed  ahead  to  seek  a 
way  through. 

Bending  low,  creeping  under  the  boughs,  I  soon  dis 
covered  that  I  was  not  the  first  to  make  this  attempt  at  a 
passage.  Branches  had  been  recently  broken,  some  cut 
with  a  knife,  and  there  were  footprints  in  the  deep  leaves 
and  droppings  of  the  trees,  too  indistinct  for  me  to  learn 
anything  by  study  of  them.  I  could  not  even  tell  which 
way  they  pointed,  whether  up  or  down  the  gully. 

I  turned  back,  unhitched  Zim  and  we  retraced  our 
way.  My  nerves  were  still  unsteady  by  reason  of  the 
broken  lock  and  the  horse's  hoof -prints  on  my  claim ;  the 
gully  under  the  mesquites  was  deep  shadowed  and 
gloomy;  there  seemed  no  excuse  in  my  imagination  for 
anyone  climbing  into  that  mesquite;  and  I  was  a  bit 
frightened  and  wanted  to  get  out  into  the  sunshine.  I 
looked  for  a  place  where  Zim  could  clamber  up  the  side 
of  the  little  cafton. 

I  had  turned  his  head  to  start  the  scramble,  when, 

46 


The  High  Sierras 

looking  down,  I  saw  in  the  dust  on  a  ledge  of  rock,  the 
perfect  impress  of  a  man's  foot.  Kneeling,  I  gave  it 
careful  examination.  Not  a  miner's  boot ;  not  the  heavy 
brogan  of  the  rancher ;  not  an  Indian  moccasin.  It  was 
broad  for  its  length,  wide  and  rounded  at  the  toe,  then 
narrowed  in  graceful  curves;  and  there  was  no  distinc 
tion  of  a  raised  heel.  The  sole  was  flat  its  whole  length, 
and  the  foot  inside  the  shoe  seemed  to  have  no  arch,  for 
the  pressure  was  so  nearly  equal  everywhere  that  my  eye 
could  see  no  difference.  It  was  the  print  of  a  flat  foot 
in  a  shoe  without  a  heel,  and  it  pointed  down  the  gully. 
Straightening  up  with  a  scowl  of  perplexity,  I  gave 
Zim  the  word,  and  he,  good  little  mountain  horse,  dug 
hoofs  into  crumbling  earth,  caught  foothold  with  one 
leg  as  the  ground  slipped  from  beneath  another,  heaved 
and  plunged  ahead,  and  quicker  than  I  could  make  the 
top,  stood  trembling  and  breathing  deep  on  solid 
ground.  For  a  time  we  rested,  then  cut  across  among 
the  rocks  to  the  hog-back,  where  we  stopped  again  to 
look  from  the  brow  of  the  divide  to  the  eastward,  into 
the  unknown.  I  had  never  been  this  far  into  the  hills 
before ;  had  wanted  all  my  life  to  look  beyond  Baldy  and 
see  what  the  world  was  like.  Now  I  found  it  only 
mountain  beyond  mountain,  a  seeming  desolation  of  the 
high  summits  of  the  Sierra  Nevadas.  My  first  thought 
was  of  disappointment  of  so  dreary  a  prospect,  but  as 
I  looked  back  on  dry  Baldy  I  was  glad  that  there  were 
raw  hills  ahead  to  be  conquered. 

47 


Black  Boulder  Claim 


I  turned  to  them,  then  stopped  to  look  again  at  the 
giant  mesquites.  Although  we  had  come  not  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  as  the  crow  flies  since  leaving  the  gully,  they 
were  not  to  be  seen.  On  Baldy's  side  were  many 
patches  of  brush,  mesquite  and  manzanita,  and  one  of 
these,  I  knew,  would  be  the  tops  of  the  big  trees  poked 
above  the  rim  of  the  deep  arroyo,  but,  try  as  I  might,  I 
could  not  tell  which  one.  Unless  I  had  stood  among 
them  in  the  gully,  I'd  never  believe  they  existed  there 
upon  Baldy;  which  explained  why  I  had  never  heard  of 
them,  as  I  certainly  would  have  heard  had  they  been 
known  to  my  father  or  the  miners  of  Jamesville. 


48 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  PISTOL-SHOTGUN 

FROM  the  Summer's  Peak  hog-back  a  trail  ran 
northeast  to  join  the  Eagle  Lake  trail  at  Ophir 
Creek;  and  here  we  arrived  in  the  late  afternoon, 
Zim  to  poke  his  nose  into  its  waters,  I  to  lie  on  the  bank 
beside  him  with  my  face  buried  nearly  as  deep  in  its  cold 
current.     We  were  parched. 

I  found  a  good  camping  ground  just  above  where  the 
trail  crossed  the  creek,  a  widening  of  the  little  canon  to 
make  an  acre  or  so  of  flat,  on  which  grass  grew  for  Zim's 
pasturage,  and  as  quickly  as  I  could  get  his  packs  off  and 

49 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

hobbles  on,  he  was  at  supper.  For  mine,  I  built  a  fire 
beside  a  rock,  and  placed  coffee  over  it  to  boil;  then 
looked  about  for  a  place  to  spread  my  blankets  for  the 
night. 

Comfortable  sleep,  and  plenty  of  it,  was,  I  knew,  the 
first  necessity  of  the  prospector.  One  can  travel  far 
with  the  handicaps  of  hunger  and  even  thirst,  but  the 
rest  from  exhaustion  that  sleep  gives  is  essential.  The 
ground  in  the  flat  was  damp.  Only  a  few  days  before  it 
was  snow-covered.  I  chose  for  my  bed  a  large  flat  rock 
alongside  the  creek,  and  gathered  small  branches  from  a 
pine  near  by  to  lay  upon  it,  first  cutting  away  the  bulk 
of  the  woody  parts.  Then  from  beneath  the  pine  I 
scooped  up  armfuls  of  dry  needles  to  place  over  the 
branches  until  all  was  soft ;  put  Zim's  blanket  atop  the 
needles;  laid  my  own  over  it,  ready  to  roll  around  me; 
and  was  sure  I  should  be  snug  and  warm  for  the  night. 

Before  I  had  finished,  the  coffee  had  boiled,  and  the 
pot  had  been  set  on  a  hot  rock  to  settle.  For  supper 
there  was  the  bag  Mother  Laing  had  given  me,  and  I 
found  it  held  buttered  biscuits,  doughnuts,  and  almost 
half  a  jelly  cake.  As  these  were  probably  the  last  prod 
ucts  of  civilization  I  should  see  for  several  months,  I 
took  out  but  two  biscuits  and  a  quite  respectably  small 
cut  of  the  cake,  hesitating  some  time  whether  the  latter 
should  not  be  one  of  the  crullers.  The  rest  I  rewrapped 
carefully  in  the  sack;  took  from  my  pack  the  side  of 
bacon — "  sow's  belly,"  they  call  it  in  the  hills — and  cut 

50 


The  Pistol-Shotgun 

two  thick  slices,  which  I  rolled  in  flour  before  placing  in 
the  frying-pan,  then  set  table  by  laying  tin  plate  and 
cup,  knife,  fork  and  spoon  on  top  of  a  rock. 

While  I  sniffed  with  pleasure  the  aroma  of  frying 
bacon  and  steaming  coffee,  I  looked  across  at  Old  Baldy 
in  the  brilliant  hues  of  evening  sunset.  Not  a  bad 
mountain  at  all,  as  one  saw  it  from  here,  its  varied  greens 
of  grass,  brush  and  trees  giving  it  a  softness  in  pleasing 
contrast  to  the  rugged  peaks  ahead.  I  might  have  loved 
Baldy  if  this  creek  that  surged  and  bubbled  beside  me 
could  have  been  upon  its  sides.  Ophir  would  run  deep 
with  water  every  day  of  the  year — not  just  for  the  short 
time  of  the  melting  snows.  If  it  was  flowing  through 
the  Black  Boulder  claim,  I  should  be  rich.  Well,  I 
couldn't  move  the  stream  to  Baldy,  so  I  must  find  a 
mine  upon  a  creek  like  it  on  some  other  mountain. 
That  was  the  solution  of  my  problem. 

The  bacon  was  done,  and  I  ate.  I  reopened  the 
paper  bag  for  another  biscuit.  I  hadn't  realized  how 
hungry  I  was.  I  finished  the  buttered  biscuits,  added 
the  doughnuts  to  my  meal,  then  decided  that  jelly  cake 
wouldn't  keep  well  in  the  hills ;  ate  it  to  save  it.  There 
wasn't  a  crumb  left  in  Mother  Laing's  sack  when  I  got 
up  from  supper.  But  I  was  filled  with  food  and  con 
tentment  as  I  built  the  little  cooking  fire  into  a  bigger 
blaze  and  leaned  lazily  back  against  the  warm  rock  that 
was  my  bed. 

Prospecting  was  not  such  hard  work.     Of  course, 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

there  wouldn't  be  doughnuts  and  jelly  cake  every  day, 
but  there  was  plenty  of  game  in  the  hills;  which  re 
minded  me  that  I  had  seen  none  all  day.  Still,  one 
didn't  expect  to  find  game  on  dry  Baldy.  Here  along 
the  creek  bottom  should  be  good  hunting;  quail  and  rab 
bits,  anyhow.  Maybe  I'd  better  try  out  my  pistol-shot 
gun  in  the  morning.  It  would  be  rather  a  serious  mat 
ter  if  it  didn't  work  as  I'd  planned,  for  at  the  rate  I  was 
eating,  the  stores  wouldn't  last  long.  Meals  such  as  I'd 
had  to-night,  three  times  a  day,  seven  days  a  week,  for 
four  months — well,  the  size  of  the  pack  it  would  make 
dwarfed  Old  Baldy! 

I  jumped  up  hurriedly,  brought  my  supplies  closer  to 
my  bed,  laid  the  loaded  rifle  within  reach  of  my  hand, 
and  looked  carefully  over  the  revolver.  It  seemed  all 
right  for  small  game ;  the  loads  were  not  heavy,  but  there 
should  be  enough  propulsion  to  kill  doves,  quail,  grouse, 
and  rabbits;  and  the  rifle  would  take  care  of  anything 
bigger.  Then  I  used  the  last  of  the  daylight  to  gather 
a  supply  of  pitch-pine  for  fire-wood.  The  canon  was 
cooling  rapidly  to  a  shivery  chill,  and  I'd  need  a  blaze; 
but  more  I  wanted  the  comfort  and  cheer  of  itsjglpw. 

As  the  mountains  dulled  to  lavender,  blue  and  gray, 
with  pale  stars  beginning  to  show  in  the  gloom  of  the 
sky,  I  felt  the  loneliness  of  the  wilds.  I  had  spent  many 
nights  alone  on  Baldy,  but  there  I  looked  down  upon  the 
twinkling  village,  whose  lights  crowded  closer  with 
night's  falling.  Here  were  only  grim  mountains,  I  the 

52 


The  Pistol-Shotgun 

one  human  being,  seemingly,  in  all  their  peaks.  And 
I  began  to  doubt  the  wisdom  of  my  attempt  to  snatch 
fortune  from  them.  I  was  too  young  and  inexperienced 
to  tackle  the  strength  of  the  rough  hills,  looming  blacker 
each  moment.  I  should  have  brought  one  companion, 
at  least;  even  Lem  Strong  would  be  welcome  now. 

Then  Zim's  hoof  struck  against  a  stone;  a  familiar 
sound;  and  misgivings  went  from  me.  Out  there, 
placidly  munching  the  wild  grass,  was  a  friend  who 
feared  no  darkness  or  sound  of  the  night.  He  could 
not  talk  reassurance  to  me,  but  he  was  my  good  friend 
and  comrade  of  perfect  understanding.  I  piled  the  last 
of  the  pine  knots  on  the  fire  and  climbed  into  my  blan 
kets,  warm  and  fragrant  of  the  pines.  Above  were 
golden  stars,  friendly  stars.  I  slept. 

A  gray  squirrel  on  the  limb  of  a  near-by  alder,  scold 
ing  in  throaty  chuckles  at  the  stranger  in  his  domain, 
woke  me  to  a  bright  sunrise  in  a  crisply  chill  morning. 
I  shivered  as  I  leaped  from  under  the  blankets,  and 
dressed  by  pulling  on  my  boots.  It  was  only  after  I 
had  washed  at  the  creek  that  I  remembered  that  squirrels 
were  food,  and  the  revolver  was  still  untried,  and  in  the 
meantime  the  little  animal  had  lost  interest  in  me  and 
disappeared  about  the  duties  of  squirrel  housekeeping. 

I  hastened  to  light  a  fire  and  had  soon  warmed  myself 
as  I  prepared  the  coffee.  Zim,  seeing  me  up  and  about, 
raised  his  head  to  give  me  morning  greeting  with  a 
whinny,  and  I  answered  with  a  joyful  shout.  This  was 

53 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

our  first  day  in  the  wilderness,  the  beginning  of  adven 
ture,  with  Old  Baldy  behind  us  and  the  whole  world 
ahead. 

Our  trail  led  up  Ophir  Creek  for  about  ten  miles,  then, 
as  I  knew  from  the  maps,  cut  along  the  east  slope  of 
Mount  Felton  to  cross  the  divide  into  Eagle  Lake  basin, 
a  distance  in  all  of  twenty-six  miles.  By  starting  early, 
I  could  possibly  make  it  before  dark.  There  was  no  real 
reason  for  hurry;  the  loss  of  a  day  in  reaching  my  ob 
jective  meant  nothing,  especially  as  Eagle  Lake  might 
prove  no  better  ground  for  prospecting  than  any  I  must 
pass  to  reach  it;  but  I  was  an  impulsive  boy,  and  I 
wanted  to  get  on. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  by  the  big,  old-fashioned  watch 
which  had  been  my  father's  timepiece  for  many  years, 
when  we  started  on  our  way.  The  trail  crossed  the 
stream  a  score  of  times  in  that  first  mile,  and  my  boots 
were  soon  as  full  of  wet  as  my  feet  would  allow.  While 
I  was  squidging  along,  leading  Zim  by  a  loose  hold  on 
the  hackamore,  a  jack-rabbit  hopped  out  of  the  brush 
beside  the  trail  and  paused  to  look  at  us  before  unloosen 
ing  his  long-legged  gallop. 

That  half  second's  hesitation  gave  me  opportunity 
to  cock  the  pistol  and  take  a  hasty  aim.  As  I  pulled 
trigger  several  things  happened;  the  gun  went  off  with  a 
loud  report  and  a  vicious  kick;  Zim  jumped,  jerked 
away  from  me,  wheeled  and  started  on  a  run ;  and  Mr. 
Jack-rabbit  flirted  his  long  ears,  laid  them  back,  and 

54 


The  Pistol-Shotgun 

disappeared  up  the  mountainside  in  three  jumps.     I 
had  missed  him  completely! 

I  trotted  back  after  Zim,  calling  and  whistling  to  him, 
but  he  was  thoroughly  frightened,  for  he  had  never  been 
broken  to  firearms.  I  could  see  him  now  and  then, 
when  trees  or  brush  didn't  intervene,  galloping  back 
over  the  trail.  The  only  thing  I  could  do  was  to  follow 
as  fast  as  I  could,  and  hope  he'd  get  over  his  scare  before 
he  led  me  clear  back  home. 

He  did.  Something  about  our  camp  at  the  crossing 
composed  his  nerves,  and  when  I  came  panting  up,  Zim 
was  feeding  in  his  pasture  of  the  night,  the  pack  almost 
off  him  and  all  on  one  side.  He  snorted  in  alarm  as  I 
came  through  the  thicket,  but,  recognizing  my  voice, 
quieted,  so  that  I  came  up  to  him  and  patted  him  sooth 
ingly.  He  wasn't  to  blame  for  objecting  when  I  fired 
a  cannon  under  his  nose. 

I  had  to  take  off  the  pack  to  readjust  it;  and  having 
it  off,  I  decided  to  give  that  revolver  a  thorough  try-out 
before  starting  a  second  time  on  my  journey.  It  was 
seriously  important  for  me  to  know  why  I  missed  that 
rabbit;  either  it  was  an  indication  of  shamefully  weak 
marksmanship  or  proof  of  a  defective  weapon.  The 
mountain-bred  Jack  is  not  a  small  target;  this  one  that 
had  cavorted  up  the  hill,  maybe  laughing  at  me,  was  as 
big  as  a  lamb.  Counting  its  ears  in  the  measurement, 
it  was  taller.  And  it  had  been  sitting  still  when  I  shot, 
and  not  too  distant. 

55 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

I  began  a  search  for  a  mark  on  which  to  test  the  gun, 
looking  through  the  thicket  for  bird  or  squirrel,  working 
my  way  down-stream  over  the  bottom-lands.  I  had 
gone  no  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below  the  camp 
when  a  covey  of  quail  hurtled  out  of  the  brush  in  hum 
ming  flight.  Aiming  at  the  center  of  the  flock,  I  pulled, 
cocked,  and  pulled  again.  Two  ounces  of  bird-shot  I 
sent  into  the  midst  of  that  covey  before  it  was  out  of 
range,  and  never  a  feather  was  touched ! 

In  sheer  disgust  I  threw  the  old  pistol  on  the  ground 
and  started  back  to  Zim,  expressing  to  myself  the  con 
tempt  I  felt  for  the  weapon.  I  could  have  done  better 
with  the  rifle,  and  no  rifle  is  supposed  to  be  made  for 
shooting  quail  on  the  wing.  But,  as  to  that,  neither  had 
the  revolver  been  built  for  that  purpose.  It  was  my 
fault  for  trying  to  convert  its  original  use  of  a  single 
slug  to  an  ounce  of  pellets.  I  went  back  where  I  had 
flung  it  and  picked  it  up. 

The  pistol  lay  amid  rocks,  one  of  which  it  had  scraped 
in  its  fall.  Because  that  fresh  scar  gleamed  yellow 
against  the  rusty  surface  color  of  the  stone,  I  lifted  it 
curiously.  It  was  quartz,  a  bit  of  float  that  had  broken 
from  some  ledge  long  enough  before  to  turn  in  color 
from  white  to  rusty  brown,  and  it  was  larded  with  free 
gold. 

Float  travels  only  down-hill.  It  may  go  in  a  de 
cidedly  crooked  line,  make  every  direction  of  the  com 
pass,  but  as  gravity  is  the  only  reason  for  its  traveling, 

56  * 


The  Pistol-Shotgun 

every  inch  of  the  way  must  be  down-hill.  Had  I  not 
picked  up  this  bit,  it  would  possibly  have  continued  its 
journey  to  the  distant  Pacific  Ocean;  a  passing  hoof  or 
boot  dislodging  it  to  start  it  rolling  down  the  creek  bank, 
where  the  stream  would  tumble  it  on  its  way  to  the  river, 
and  so,  ultimately,  to  the  sea. 

Above  the  spot  where  I  had  found  it  was  a  ledge  of 
gold-bearing  quartz,  and  if  this  specimen  was  a  fair 
sample,  the  ledge  was  rich.  It  would  probably  out-crop 
— that  is,  break  through  the  surface  of  the  ground  to 
show  as  a  rock  face,  holding  quartz — but  that  was  no 
certainty.  It  was  impossible  to  tell  how  many  years, 
even  centuries,  this  piece  of  float  had  consumed  in  travel 
ing  so  far,  or  what  changes  there  had  been  in  the  face  of 
the  mountain  since  it  broke  from  the  lode.  But  I  knew 
that  sooner  or  later  I  could  find  the  ledge ;  knew  that  as 
a  prospector  I  had  my  work  cut  out  for  me  by  this 
chance  discovery ;  but  I  looked  up  the  course  of  its  prob 
able  descent  and  turned  away  to  go  back  to  Zim.  The 
float  had  come  from  Old  Baldy. 

Somewhere  on  the  north  face  of  my  mountain  was  a 
ledge  of  gold-bearing  quartz,  and  I  couldn't  make  up 
my  mind  to  turn  back  and  look  for  it.  It  was  too  near 
home;  in  my  own  back-garden,  as  it  seemed;  and  Baldy 
was  too  dry — too  familiar  and  parched.  I  had  one  mine 
on  its  sides ;  why  search  for  another?  I  placed  the  bit  of 
float  in  Zim's  oat-bag,  took  from  the  pack  the  paper 
sack  I  had  saved,  roughly  scrawled  a  bull's-eye  upon  it 

57 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

with  a  bit  of  charred  stick,  and  tested  the  value  of  my 
pistol-shotgun. 

I  brought  Zim  up  to  see  the  try-out,  determined  to 
accustom  him  to  the  sound  of  firearms,  tied  him  firmly 
to  a  tree  and  set  up  my  target  on  the  side-hill  twenty 
paces  away.  Taking  careful  aim  over  the  rusty  sights 
at  the  center  ring,  I  fired — a  puff  of  dust  a  foot  beneath 
the  paper.  Allowing  more  of  the  front  sight  to  show 
through  the  groove,  I  fired  again,  to  see  the  paper  give 
a  flirt  in  the  air.  I  had  hit.  Quieting  Zim,  who  had 
jumped  at  each  explosion,  I  ran  up  to  the  sack  and 
looked  at  my  target.  Near  the  center  was  a  hole  not 
three  inches  across,  and  through  this  every  shot  had 
gone.  The  entire  ounce  of  pellets  had  traveled  in  a 
mass  almost  as  the  rifle-bullet  flies. 

I  doubled  the  distance  and  tried  again,  to  find  that 
while  the  gun  scattered  more,  it  had  so  lost  penetrative 
force  that  I  doubted  if  it  would  kill  or  stop  the  flight  of 
bird  or  animal.  No  good  at  all,  at  short  or  long  range. 
This  was  a  serious  setback.  Without  the  ability  of  add 
ing  wild  game,  so  plentiful  in  the  hills,  to  my  larder,  I 
would  soon  be  short  of  food.  To  rely  upon  the  rifle  for 
every  quail,  grouse,  squirrel  or  rabbit  would  run  me  out 
of  cartridges  in  a  few  days,  but  that  was  the  only  alter 
native,  unless  I  could  learn  to  shoot  the  revolver  with 
the  same  skill  I  had  with  the  rifle. 

I  spent  an  hour  in  practice  with  it,  learning  its  sight 
ing,  its  range,  its  quirks  and  peculiarities;  and  the  sun 

58 


The  Pistol-Shotgun 


climbed  higher  in  the  heavens.  Lunch-time  found  me 
slicing  bacon  from  the  side,  boiling  coffee  over  the  same 
fireplace  I  had  used  at  supper  the  night  before.  This 
wouldn't  do  at  all ;  I  was  eating  up  my  stores  and  mak 
ing  no  progress.  I  determined  to  get  on  directly  I  had 
eaten,  and  having  so  decided,  added  a  flapjack  to  my 
noontime  meal. 

The  Sierra  flapjack  has  at  least  one  unique  quality. 
At  bottom,  it  is  like  any  other  flapjack,  flour,  salt,  bak 
ing-powder  and  water,  well  mixed  to  proper  consistency, 
and  poured  into  a  hot,  greased  skillet.  It  may  be  a  bit 
thicker  than  some  other  varieties,  but  that  is  not  its  claim 
to  fame.  When  it  has  turned  to  a  rich,  russet  golden 
brown  on  one  side,  it  rises  gracefully  into  the  air,  makes 
a  single,  perfect  half  revolution,  and  descends,  uncooked 
side  downward,  into  the  hot  griddle ;  and  without  a  spat 
tering  drop!  I'll  not  claim  that  this  flight  is  entirely 
voluntary.  In  fact,  a  skillful  human  hand  is  needed  on 
the  skillet  handle;  such  a  hand  as  I  possessed,  for  I  was 
adept  at  flapping  the  flapjack. 

After  dinner  the  cool  waters  of  the  creek  tempted  me 
to  a  bath;  it  was  not  deep  enough  to  call  it  a  swim. 
Somewhat  above  my  camp  I  found  a  hole  that  would 
serve  nicely,  and  was  looking  into  it  before  undressing 
when  I  saw  a  large  trout  move  out  from  under  the  over 
hanging  bank,  hold  himself  with  quivering  fins  in  the 
current  for  a  minute,  then  return  to  his  shelter.  That 
quickly  decided  me  to  substitute  fishing  for  bathing,  so 

59 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

I  hurried  away  to  cut  a  willow  rod,  fastened  the  line  I 
carried  in  my  pocket  firmly  to  its  butt-end,  about  a  foot 
above,  wound  it  with  frequent  hitches  to  the  tip,  and 
there  fastened  it  again.  Should  the  pole  break,  I'd  still 
have  the  line. 

I  had  artificial  flies  with  me,  but  as  food,  not  sport, 
was  the  main  object  of  this  endeavor,  I  went  kicking 
through  the  tall  grass  up  the  gully,  cap  in  hand,  and 
soon  had  a  score  of  stunned  grasshoppers  for  bait. 
Then  I  returned  cautiously  to  the  pool  where  I  had  seen 
the  fish  and  made  my  cast. 

Flash — snap !  An  immediate  strike,  an  instantaneous 
breaking  of  the  rod  near  the  tip.  When  I  pulled  in,  the 
bait  was  gone  and  my  tackle  wrecked.  That  had  been  a 
big,  greedy  trout.  I  went  back  to  the  willows,  cut  a 
larger,  stronger  pole,  refixed  my  line,  and  repeated  the 
play. 

As  the  hopper,  transfixed  by  the  hook,  landed  on  the 
calm  water  of  the  pool,  there  was  a  swirl.  I  gave  a  quick 
jerk  and  a  silver  streak  shot  through  the  air  and  into  the 
brush  behind  me.  Dropping  the  rod,  I  went  after  it, 
bringing  back  a  few  ounces  of  muscular  activity,  with 
five  times  as  much  fight  as  weight. 

For  half  an  hour  I  caught  fingerling  trout,  five  to 
seven  inches  long,  most  delicious  eating,  but  little  sport 
with  my  strong  pole  and  line.  Then  I  hooked  another 
fierce  struggle,  that  made  the  pool  almost  boil  as  the 
fish  rushed  in  a  circle  at  the  end  of  the  line.  I  feared  he 

60 


The  Pistol-Shotgun 

would  break  or  bend  the  hook,  snap  line  or  leader,  or 
even  the  rod,  for  without  a  reel,  the  only  way  to  play  the 
fish  was  to  ease  the  rushes  gradually,  urging  him  when  he 
paused  for  rest,  tiring  him  by  keeping  him  active. 
Twice  I  attempted  to  land  him,  only  to  start  the  fight  all 
over  again,  and  it  was  a  long  half  hour  before  I  steered 
him  close  enough  in  to  reach  down  with  a  hand  and 
grasp  him  behind  the  gills  to  throw  him  ashore — a  four- 
pounder  rainbow. 


61 


CHAPTER  V 

A  MOUNTAIN  LION 

I  HAD  given  over  all  idea  of  starting  on  again  until 
morning,  and  was  cleaning  my  catch  of  trout  on 
a  rock  by  the  stream,  when  a  man's  voice  hailed  me, 
and  I  looked  up  startled  to  find  I  had  company.     The 
swirl  of  the  creek  had  kept  me  from  hearing  the  ap 
proach  of  a  tall,  clean-faced  man  riding  a  handsome  bay 
horse,  who  must  have  come  by  the  trail  down  the  gully, 
the  one  I  should  travel  next  morning. 

"  How  far  to  Jamesville?  "  he  asked,  and  when  I  had 

62 


A  Mountain  Lion 

told  him,  swung  off  the  horse,  with,  "  No  objection  to 
my  making  camp  alongside  you  for  the  night,  is 
there? " 

"  Glad  to  have  company,"  I  said.  "And,  if  you  will, 
sir,  I'll  be  pleased  to  give  you  a  supper  of  trout.  I've 
more  than  I  can  handle  alone." 

"  Thank  you,  lad.  I've  a  snack  in  my  saddle-bags, 
but  if  you'll  let  me  chip  in  with  it,  the  invitation  is  ac 
cepted.  Nothing  so  good  as  fresh  brook  trout.  Are 
you  camping  here,  or  where  you  bound? " 

He  was  unsaddling,  and  I  had  opportunity  lo  study 
him  before  I  made  reply.  I  already  knew  I  liked  his 
face.  He  was  about  fifty,  I  judged,  a  bit  grayed  of 
hair,  wrinkled  of  cheek  and  brow,  but  with  an  expression 
of  easy  good  nature  and  the  appearance  of  strength  that 
was  reassuring.  I  answered  frankly: 

"  I'm  started  prospecting.  I'll  make  Eagle  Lake  to 
morrow.  Did  you  come  by  there?  " 

"  No."  He  hobbled  the  bay,  gave  him  a  gentle  slap 
on  the  withers,  and  sent  him  to  join  Zim.  "  I'm  last 
from  Quincy,  but  that's  some  days  back.  Let  me  help 
with  those  fish,"  and  he  pulled  a  capable  pocket-knife, 
opened  it,  and  went  to  work.  "  My  name's  Burchard — 
Frank  Burchard." 

I  gave  him  mine,  told  him  I  lived  at  Jamesville,  asked 
him  to  get  word  to  Mother  Laing  that  he  had  met  up 
with  me,  and  when  we  went  up  to  my  camp,  I  carrying 
the  fish,  he  lugging  his  saddle  and  bags,  we  were  on  the 

63 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

friendliest  terms.  But  neither  then  nor  later,  while  we 
were  preparing  supper,  to  which  he  added  bread  and 
butter  with  boiled  ham  between  the  slices,  hard-boiled 
eggs  and  a  piece  of  cheese,  did  he  tell  me  more  about 
himself,  or  what  was  taking  him  to  my  home  town.  By 
his  clothes,  he  was  neither  miner  nor  rancher;  I  guessed 
him  a  city  man ;  and  he  talked  readily  and  interestingly 
about  everything  else  but  his  affairs. 

My  rock  bedstead  was  large  enough  to  accommodate 
two,  and  we  gathered  more  pine  boughs  and  needles, 
rolled  up  in  our  blankets  side  by  side  at  dark,  with  a  big 
pitch  fire  burning  beyond  us.  It  was  cheery  and  com 
fortable,  and  when  Mr.  Burchard  had  started  his  pipe, 
I  told  him  all  about  my  Black  Boulder  claim,  its  disap 
pointments,  my  hopes  for  this  journey,  and  finally  of 
Wayne  and  his  offer  for  the  property.  He  had  listened 
quietly,  now  and  then  asking  a  question  or  making  a 
comment  that  showed  he  was  attentive,  but  with 
Wayne's  name,  he  lifted  up  on  his  elbow,  turning  to 
ward  me,  and  said: 

"  He's  the  hotel  man,  isn't  he?  " 

"  Yes;  runs  the  Gilson  House.  He's  about  the  rich 
est  man  in  Jamesville." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  that  he  had  a  brother?  " 

I  hadn't;  or  if  I  had,  it  was  so  long  ago  that  I'd  for 
gotten  it.  I  told  Mr.  Burchard  that  no  brother  had 
visited  Wayne  in  my  recollection.  He  looked  at  me  in 
the  flickering  light  as  he  asked: 

64 


HE  TALKED  READILY  AND  INTERESTINGLY. 


A  Mountain  Lion 

"And  how  many  years  back  would  your  recollection 
carry,  Ted? " 

"  Six — eight — possibly  ten.  I've  lived  there  all  my 
life,  and  it's  a  small  town.  All  my  life  I've  known  Mr. 
Wayne.  If  his  brother  had  come  to  Jamesville  I  think 
I'd  remember;  but  then,  he  might  have  a  brother — sev 
eral  of  them — and  I  shouldn't  know  unless  he  came  to 
visit  him.  Wayne's  awfully  quiet  about  such  things." 

That  seemed  to  satisfy  my  bunk-mate,  for  he  switched 
his  questioning  to  strangers  at  the  hotel,  guests  who  had 
come  within  the  past  two  months ;  and  I  was  little  use,  as 
I  had  been  away  most  of  that  time.  Finally  he  knocked 
his  pipe  against  the  rock,  carefully  extinguished  the 
sparks,  and  suggested  that  as  we  were  both  due  for  an 
early  start  in  the  morning,  we  had  better  sleep.  I  was 
quickly  obedient. 

Mr.  Burchard  left  me  directly  after  breakfast  early 
next  morning,  thanking  me  cordially  for  what  had  really 
been  a  favor  on  his  part,  and  rode  away  on  the  trail  to 
Jamesville.  I  was  sorry  to  see  him  go,  for  he  had  been 
fine  company,  and  I  pressed  upon  him  the  rest  of  the 
trout  for  his  luncheon,  to  find,  after  he  was  so  far  that  it 
was  impossible  to  recall  him  or  catch  him  up,  that  he  had 
forgotten — or,  maybe,  purposely  left — four  sandwiches 
and  the  rest  of  the  slab  of  cheese.  I  was  certainly  his 
debtor. 

I  started  Zim  just  as  the  sun  climbed  over  the  summit 
of  the  Sierras,  the  pistol-shotgun  riding  in  his  pack,  the 

65 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

30-30  rifle  upon  my  shoulder;  and  I  hoped  that  same 
jack-rabbit  would  pop  onto  the  trail  again,  and  give  me 
the  chance  to  prove  I  wasn't  the  dabster  with  the  rifle  I 
had  been  with  a  revolver.  But  either  he  had  not  re 
turned,  or  lay  quiet  in  the  brush,  for  I  saw  no  game  at 
all,  and  before  noon  we  had  turned  away  from  the  creek 
bottom,  Zim  parting  with  the  stream  by  drinking  so 
much  of  it  that  I  was  afraid  I'd  have  to  loosen  his 
cinches,  I  filling  both  my  stomach  and  the  canteen  with 
its  waters. 

Twice  I  missed  the  trail  on  Felton  before  we  came  to 
the  divide;  the  first  time,  by  following  Mr.  Burchard's 
horse's  hoof -prints,  not  realizing  for  some  time  that  he 
didn't  pass  over  the  divide,  but  had  skirted  the  summit 
of  Haugh's  Peak  to  come  in  from  the  north.  It  was 
the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  lose  that  trail,  for  it  was 
overgrown  with  blackberry  and  wild  cucumber  vines, 
and  the  manzanita's  spring  foliage  of  silver  gray  had 
spread  from  both  sides  to  choke  it.  My  second  excur 
sion  took  me  several  miles  out  of  the  course,  and  all  I 
could  do  when  I  discovered  that  I  was  lost  was  to  re 
trace  the  long  way  till  I  struck  the  trail  again. 

Finally  we  crossed  the  divide,  but  these  provoking 
delays  had  taken  hours.  Sunset  found  us  headed  down 
hill;  the  lake  was  not  yet  in  sight.  The  trail  led  into 
deep  woods,  which,  I  hoped,  might  border  it  and  conceal 
it,  so  I  determined  to  push  through,  even  if  it  took  me 
far  into  the  night;  and  had  no  more  than  made  that 

66 


A  Mountain  Lion 

decision,  when  there  came  another  halt.  A  cock  grouse 
got  up  from  beside  the  trail  on  whirring  wings  and  flew 
to  light  in  a  tree  not  two  hundred  yards  up  the  slope. 

Tying  Zim,  I  went  after  the  bird.  It  would  be  too 
fine  an  addition  to  my  larder  to  neglect,  even  though  I 
was  in  a  tearing  hurry  to  get  on.  I  threw  a  cartridge 
into  the  rifle  chamber  and  went  directly  where  I  had 
seen  it  settle  down. 

A  bull-grouse  has  somewhat  the  ostrich  idea  about 
hiding;  if  it  is  on  the  limb  of  a  tree,  it  believes  it  is  safe 
from  harm,  and  has  little  fear  of  man  or  beast.  I  ex 
pected  to  march  up  under  the  bird  and  pop  him  off  his 
branch  as  easy  as  telling  it.  But  the  grouse  wasn't  in 
sight  when  I  arrived,  and  though  I  circled  the  tree  a 
score  of  times,  rifle  ready  for  a  quick  shot,  I  never  had 
a  peek  at  the  bird.  Finally,  when  I  had  given  up  and 
started  back,  I  heard  it  fly,  and  was  too  mad  even  to 
look  over  my  shoulder  to  see  where. 

As  night  came  in  and  the  woods  blackened,  I  let  Zim 
lead,  for  he  had  better  eyes  than  mine  for  the  trail,  but 
when  he  came  to  a  final  stop,  I  gave  up.  Even  with 
lighted  matches  I  could  not  tell  if  I  were  on  or  off  the 
narrow  way,  and  there  was  only  one  thing  to  do;  camp 
and  wait  for  daylight;  and  here  was  no  fit  place  for  a 
camp.  The  trees  were  thick  around  us,  and  a  dense 
undergrowth  of  brambly  brush  and  vines  made  it  im 
possible  in  the  blackness  to  hunt  up  a  better  spot.  I 
took  packs  and  bridle  off  Zim,  turning  him  loose,  un- 

67 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

hobbled,  to  find  room  to  move  and,  perhaps,  forage, 
while  I  lay  down  in  my  blankets,  right  there,  my  head 
against  the  roots  of  one  tree,  my  body  cramped  between 
two  others,  so  tired  I  cared  nothing  for  food  or  a  fire; 
and  I  tried  to  sleep. 

My  first  night  of  the  wilderness  was  lonely  but  com 
fortable;  last  night  had  been  comfortable  and  friendly; 
this  one  was  lonely,  uncomfortable,  unfriendly.  After 
the  sound  of  Zim's  hoofs  had  died  in  the  distance,  there 
was  nothing  familiar  to  my  ear  in  the  forest,  though  it 
was  filled  with  disquieting  noises.  Branches  cracked 
without  seeming  reason,  there  were  unaccountable 
movements  of  the  brush,  distant  and  formless  cries  on 
the  mountains,  and  occasional  nearer  calls  of  birds  or 
animals  with  whose  tones  I  was  unfamiliar.  Upon 
Baldy,  I  knew  the  cause  of  night  sounds;  here  they 
seemed  unreasonable  and  terrifying. 

My  nerves  grew  taut;  my  hand  clutched  the  rifle 
beside  me;  I  wished  I  had  tethered  Zim  where  I  might 
hear  him,  or  had  brought  Lem  Strong  with  me.  Lem 
wasn't  such  a  bad  sort — I  liked  him  when  he  grinned. 
I  wished  I  owned  a  dog,  either  a  small  one  that  would 
curl  up  in  the  blankets  with  me,  or  a  ferociously  big 
dog  that  could  tackle  a  bear  or  panther. 

Then  something  screamed,  and  I  leaped  free  of  the 
blankets.  It  had  seemed  so  close  that  now  I  felt  sure  I 
could  hear  the  beat  of  the  thing's  heart;  my  own,  ham 
mering  away,  I  presume.  My  hands,  tight  and  cold 

68 


A  Mountain  Lion 

about  the  weapon,  trembled  like  aspen  leaves.  Back 
pressed  against  the  tree  trunk,  I  stood  stiffly  erect, 
scarcely  breathing,  my  eyes  boring  into  the  blackness, 
and  waited. 

Seconds  seemed  hours.  Off  to  the  right,  a  twig 
snapped  like  the  report  of  a  cannon.  Then  again  came 
the  night-splitting  scream,  and  this  time,  wide  awake,  I 
recognized  it,  and  gave  it  location  in  a  way.  It  was  not 
so  close  as  I'd  thought;  to  the  right  a  few  hundred 
feet — yards,  perhaps.  I  had  heard  that  cry  before  of  a 
night,  but  always  I  had  been  safely  behind  walls ;  it  was 
the  cougar,  the  panther  of  the  mountains. 

I  stilled  the  trembling  of  my  hands  by  desperate  effort 
of  the  will,  and  cocked  the  rifle.  On  the  silence,  the 
click  of  the  lock  seemed  like  an  explosion  of  the  gun. 
Again  I  waited. 

Zim  neighed,  and  there  was  fear  in  his  call.  Was  the 
mountain  lion  stalking  him?  I  had  heard  many  tales  of 
slaughter  of  cattle,  of  horses  found  partly  devoured  by 
the  beasts,  of  raids  of  corrals  and  stock  pens.  In  fear 
now  for  Zim,  I  began  to  regain  my  courage,  for  I  must 
not  funk  with  my  horse  in  danger;  could  not  stand  by 
with  a  high-power  rifle  in  my  hands,  while  Zim  was 
made  carrion  by  this  night  stalker.  I  must  make  an 
effort,  at  least,  for  his  rescue. 

Minute  by  minute  the  woods  were  growing  brighter, 
and  I  glanced  up  to  see  a  great,  round  moon  cut  by  the 
branches  of  a  pine.  Ic  was  in  its  last  quarter,  and  each 

69 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

moment  its  light  was  creeping  deeper  and  deeper  into 
the  shadows  of  the  forest.  Again  Zim  whinnied,  long 
and  loud.  With  rifle  at  a  ready,  I  slipped  through  the 
trees  to  find  him. 


70 


CHAPTER  VI 

BACK  TRAILING 

IN  a  little  opening  of  the  timber,  Zim,  with  head 
high,  ears  thrust  forward,  listened  as  I  had  listened 
in  a  sweat  of  fear.     He  had  heard  me  coming,  but 
had  not  known  it  was  I.     Now,  as  I  broke  through  the 
fringe  of  thicket,  he  whinnied  a  greeting,  and  trotted 
quickly  to  my  side.     I  patted  his  neck,  feeling  the  quiver 
of  frightened  nerves.     Together  we  stood,  both  peering 
into  the  shadowed  trees  against  the  moon. 

Beyond  the  clearing  something  fell.     I  guessed  it  a 
rotten  branch,  dislodged  by  the  moving  animal,  and 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

watched  in  the  trees  above.  Then  I  saw  the  leaves  of 
a  cotton  wood  sway  as  a  branch  bent  beneath  weight,  and 
knew  I  had  located  the  beast.  Although  its  conceal 
ment  was  complete,  it  lay  stretched  somewhere  along 
that  bough.  Another  moment,  the  flicker  of  foliage 
told  me  where. 

I  aimed,  but  held  my  fire.  The  ivory  front  sight  of 
the  rifle,  tipped  by  the  moon's  rays,  showed  bright 
through  the  rear  notch,  and  I  felt  certain  of  landing  a 
bullet  wherever  I  pleased  at  this  short  range;  but  I 
wanted  a  surer  mark  than  fluttering  leaves.  There 
would  be  no  chance  to  retrieve  an  error  of  aim.  One 
spring  of  the  big  cat,  and  it  would  be  lost  in  the  shadows. 

I  waited  a  long,  long  minute ;  then  from  its  screen  of 
leaves  came  a  head,  silhouetted  against  the  sky.  I  drew 
the  white  tip  of  the  sight  deeper  into  the  notch  till  only 
its  point  rested  between  the  ears,  midway  of  that 
silhouetted  head,  and  added  the  final  soft  pressure  to 
the  trigger.  The  spurt  of  flame  was  simultaneous  with 
a  crashing  fall  and  the  sharp  crack  of  the  rifle ;  then  Zim 
snorted  wildly,  and  ran  through  the  forest.  I  threw  the 
lever  that  sent  another  cartridge  into  the  rifle's  chamber, 
listened  to  the  sound  of  the  horse's  hoofs  dying  away  in 
the  distance,  and  watched  a  blacker  shadow  on  the 
ground  among  the  black  shadows  of  the  cottonwood. 

There  was  no  movement  there.  Throwing  the  rifle 
into  the  crook  of  my  arm,  I  reached  for  matches,  lighted 
one,  and  held  it  above  my  head.  The  dark  form  was 

72 


Back  Trailing 

stilled.  Another  match  blaze,  and  I  moved  cautiously 
toward  it,  to  find  there  was  no  need  for  care  or  caution. 
The  great  beast  was  dead,  my  bullet  between  its 
eyes. 

Trembling  now  with  triumph,  the  joy  of  bagging  big 
game,  I  quickly  gathered  wood  and  had  a  great  fire 
burning;  then  pulled  the  carcase  of  the  beast  out  where 
I  could  get  a  good  view  of  it.  From  nose  to  end  of  tail, 
it  was  longer  than  I  was  tall — six  feet  and  over — and 
its  weight  was  more  than  I  could  lift.  What  a  robe  it 
would  make !  As  a  rug  for  Mother  Laing,  how  finely 
it  would  finish  off  the  living-room,  stretched  before  the 
fireplace !  Also,  it  had  value  either  as  a  skin  or  a  scalp. 
The  State  of  California  would  pay  a  bounty  of  twenty 
dollars  for  the  two  ears  and  a  strip  of  skin  just  wide 
enough  to  hold  them  together;  or  the  pelt  could  be  sold 
for  forty  or  fifty  dollars. 

I  brought  up  my  blankets,  built  the  fire  larger  with 
fallen  boughs,  rolled  in  beside  it,  and  was  soon  fast 
asleep ;  and  my  eyes  opened  at  morning  to  look  between 
tree  trunks  at  the  wide  blue  waters  of  Eagle  Lake.  I 
had  slept  so  close  beside  it  that  I  was  almost  upon  its 
banks. 

It  seemed  something  miraculous;  so  wonderful  that 
I  lay  a  long  while,  still  rolled  in  my  blankets,  my  eyes 
big,  gazing  across  the  sunlit  surface  to  the  mountains 
beyond.  It  was  as  though  the  lake  had  been  moved  to 
the  place  during  the  night.  Remembering,  I  turned 

73 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

quickly  to  my  other  side  to  find  the  now  stiffened  body 
of  the  big  eat.  Jubilantly  I  leaped  to  my  feet — I  hadn't 
even  taken  boots  off  the  night  before — and  let  out  from 
my  lungs  shouts  of  joy;  the  end  of  my  journey;  the  be 
ginning  of  adventure;  and  my  first  mountain  lion! 

The  opening  in  the  woods — I  had  thought  it  a  clear 
ing  last  night — was  a  rough  semicircle  with  only  a  fringe 
of  trees  between  it  and  the  water.  My  first  business, 
after  walking  once  or  twice  proudly  around  my  prey, 
was  to  go  to  the  edge  of  the  lake  and  wash  face  and 
hands.  Whoo-eee!  It  was  cold!  I  gave  up  the  idea 
of  a  swim.  I  went  back,  built  up  a  fire,  warmed  myself 
by  getting  the  coffee-pot  safely  adjusted  over  it,  then 
sought  out  the  spot  where  I  had  first  lain  down  to  sleep 
the  previous  night,  to  get  saddle  and  packs.  Zim  was 
nowhere  within  sound  of  my  whistle,  and  a  bit  anxiously, 
I  remembered  he  hadn't  been  hobbled;  I  had  turned  him 
loose  last  night  without  the  leg-straps  that  would  dis 
courage  travel. 

First  breakfast;  then  to  skin  my  cougar;  last,  to  hunt 
up  Zim.  The  horse  had  been  badly  scared  and  would 
run  off  his  fright  before  settling  down  to  graze  on  the 
spring  grass.  I'd  probably  find  him  not  more  than  a 
mile  away.  In  the  meantime,  off  with  that  big 
pelt! 

I  tied  the  animal's  hind  legs  together,  reeved  a  rope 
through  the  bonds  and  over  a  bough,  and  hoisted  him 
slowly  till  his  nose  cleared  the  ground.  My  large  pocket- 

74 


Back  Trailing 

knife  had  a  skinning  blade,  and  I  was  experienced  in  re 
moving  the  hides  of  small  animals.  I  went  to  the  job 
briskly,  whistling  merrily. 

When,  after  rolling  the  pelt  up  carefully  in  salt,  I 
looked  at  my  watch,  it  was  after  twelve;  it  had  taken 
nearly  five  hours,  but  I  was  proud  of  the  job.  The 
paws,  the  head,  those  most  delicate  parts  to  separate 
skin  from  other  tissue,  were  perfect,  and  not  once  had  I 
slashed  through  the  hide;  and  the  finished  product — 
when  it  had  been  dried  and  tanned — would  be  well  worth 
the  effort  and  time.  I  only  hoped  that  Zim  had  passed 
those  five  hours  in  eating  grass — not  in  travel. 

I  made  a  hurried  lunch,  and  started  after  him.  Ex 
pecting  to  be  gone  but  a  short  time,  I  took  nothing  with 
me  but  a  pocketful  of  oats  as  bait  should  my  horse  prove 
obstinate  and  prefer  freedom  to  carrying  a  pack. 
Through  the  woods,  his  trail  was  easily  followed,  and  I 
found  he  had  gone  out  of  the  forest  as  we  had  entered  it, 
on  the  old  path,  so  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  follow  back  over 
our  trip  of  the  previous  day,  keeping  an  eye  open  to  see 
if  he  left  the  trail. 

When  I  finally  made  up  my  mind  that  Zim  hadn't 
stopped  to  graze,  but  was  headed  back  for  either  home 
or  Ophir  Creek,  I  was  too  far  from  camp  to  return  for 
food  and  rifle.  In  a  deep  gloom  at  this  setback  in  my 
progress,  I  trotted  steadily  on,  hot  and  panting,  in  the 
afternoon  sun. 

It  was  twenty-six  miles  to  the  old  camp  on  Ophir; 

75 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

miles  that  had  seemed  plenty  long  enough  on  their  first 
passage;  now  with  the  fear  of  disappointment  and  the 
eager  desire  for  hurry,  made  doubly  wearisome.  I 
took  chances  at  cut-offs,  usually  finding  I  gained  little 
or  nothing  in  time,  at  the  cost  of  excessive  work,  for 
the  mesquite,  sage  and  manzanita  made  a  difficult  bar 
rier.  Late  in  the  afternoon  I  struck  the  upper  end  of 
Ophir  Creek  canon,  and  began  to  keep  my  eyes  open  for 
a  sight  of  the  missing  horse ;  then  as  I  swung  around  a 
curve  in  the  trail,  I  saw  Old  Baldy  again ;  the  mountain 
that  I  had  turned  my  back  on  so  contemptuously;  dry 
Old  Baldy,  with  its  useless  gold  in  the  grass  roots,  its 
tumbling,  traveling  float  quartz,  and  I  was  viewing  it 
from  a  new  angle.  Its  western  slope  had  been  familiar 
to  me  all  my  life,  but  I  was  looking  at  it  now  from  the 
north,  and  it  seemed  softer,  less  rugged.  The  pink 
glow  on  the  southern  hillside  gave  gentler  coloring  to 
the  huge  rock  masses;  the  patches  of  brush  seemed 
freshly  green;  the  lower  meadows  were  yellow  and 
orange  with  buttercups,  mustard  and  poppies. 

I  was  looking  at  the  reverse  side  of  the  hog-back  from 
Summer's  that  I  had  traveled  three  days  before,  and 
could  see,  as  I  thought,  the  giant  mesquites  in  the  gully 
on  Baldy,  just  a  little  taller,  a  shade  darker  of  color,  as 
they  profiled  against  the  sky;  and  above  them,  seeming 
only  a  few  feet  away  at  this  distance,  was  a  streak  of 
glowing  fire,  the  reflection  of  the  setting  sun  upon  some 
crystalline  formation.  Funny  that  I'd  never  seen 

76 


Back  Trailing 

that  ledge  before!  Strange  that  I'd  passed  close  be 
neath  it,  and  never  noticed  it ! 

I  turned  my  eyes  from  the  hillside,  placed  my  fingers 
between  my  teeth,  and  let  out  the  shrill  whistle  which 
was  Zim's  call.  In  the  still  evening,  the  sound  carried 
far,  and  I  repeated  it  from  time  to  time  as  I  jogged 
down  the  trail,  crossing  and  recrossing  the  stream.  I 
had  stopped  for  another  drink,  lying  flat  on  the  bank 
with  my  face  in  the  water,  and  looked  up  to  see  Zim 
standing  at  the  edge  of  the  creek  on  its  further  side, 
staring  at  me. 

"  Well,  Zim,"  I  said  finally.  "  What  you  got  to  say 
for  yourself?  Costing  me  a  whole  day's  time  and  a  pair 
of  tired  legs.  What's  your  excuse? " 

He  crossed  the  creek  and  rubbed  his  muzzle  against 
my  shoulder  asking  forgiveness — or  smelling  oats  in  my 
pocket!  And  I  petted  him,  so  glad  to  find  him  again 
that  I  was  willing  to  forget  his  fault,  as  I  told  him. 

"  No,  old  horse ;  you  weren't  to  blame.  The  old  moun 
tain  cat  scared  me,  too,"  and  I  emptied  my  pocket  of 
the  supper  I  had  brought  him. 

I  must  find  a  supper  for  myself  in  my  pockets,  if  I 
was  to  have  one.  It  came  forth  in  the  shape  of  a  fish- 
line  and  hooks,  and  a  supply  of  matches.  The  same 
pool  that  had  served  trout  to  Mr.  Burchard  and  me  once 
before,  gave  me  now  the  basis  of  a  meal,  and  some  fair 
sized  fish  spitted  on  a  green  willow  stick  were  soon  broil 
ing  over  the  coals.  With  cress  from  the  creek,  and  a 

77 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

big  handful  of  nuts  from  a  digger-pine,  my  appetite 
was  satisfied. 

I  crawled  into  the  pile  of  needles  that  had  been  my 
bed  before,  and  wished  heartily  for  my  blankets.  A 
high  Sierran  gully  on  a  May  night  is  not  the  warmest 
place  in  the  world,  especially  when  an  east  wind  off  the 
snow-capped  mountain-tops  blows  down  it;  neither  are 
pine  needles  as  thick  a  covering  as  wool.  Before  I 
could  get  to  sleep  I  was  obliged  to  jump  out,  gather 
wood,  and  build  a  roaring  fire  beside  my  bed;  and  as 
soon  as  it  burned  low,  I  woke  again  with  my  teeth 
a-chatter,  my  feet  blocks  of  ice ;  repeated  the  process  to 
thaw  out.  When  I  did  sleep,  I  dreamed  that  I  was 
among  the  bergs  in  the  frozen  seas,  or  wandering  clothes- 
less  in  deep  snow-drifts.  It  was  a  nightmare  of  a  night! 

The  fourth  or  fifth  time  I  had  repeated  the  freeze- 
and-thaw  performance,  I  found  the  moon  had  risen,  and 
determined  to  take  Zim  and  myself  out  of  this  chill  and 
back  where  there  were  blankets.  My  watch  said  it  was 
nearly  three  o'clock.  I  whistled  Zim  up  and  led  him  out 
on  the  trail ;  then  stopped  as  an  idea  struck  me. 

Necessity  had  brought  me  back  to  Baldy's  side  twice 
since  I  had  left  it,  once  to  pick  a  bit  of  gold  float  from 
the  ground,  this  time  to  find  a  new  ledge  on  its  side. 
Wanting  to  be  done  with  the  mountain,  certain  that  its 
dryness  made  mining  upon  it  impossible,  it  seemed  that 
fate  brought  me  back  again  and  again.  I  had  no  desire 
to  prospect  the  ledge  that  had  shown  as  a  crimson  glow 

78 


iBack  Trailing 

in  last  evening's  sunset — or  to  ever  set  foot  again  on 
Baldy.  But  why  not,  being  here,  mark  the  spot  where 
I  had  found  the  float;  locate  definitely  and  permanently 
the  starting  place  for  a  gold-search? 

I  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  place;  the  moon  gave 
light,  and  the  labor  warmed  me.  I  gathered  heavy 
stones  and  built  a  cairn  on  the  exact  spot  from  which  I 
had  picked  the  quartz,  a  monument  that  would  stand 
for  years.  Then  I  went  back,  mounted  Zim,  and  re 
traced  the  long  way  to  Eagle  Lake.  The  moon  sank; 
dawn  came;  the  sun  rose  and  climbed  to  its  meridian, 
crossed  it  an  hour;  and  I  came  into  the  woods  and  my 
camp  on  the  edge  of  the  lake. 


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CHAPTER  VII 

THE  CABIN  ON  THE  LAKE 

THE  trail  I  had  followed  from  Ophir  Creek  to 
Eagle  Lake  went  on  eastward,  civilization- 
ward,  to  Susanville,  in  Lassen  County.     For 
Zim  and  me,  it  ended  where,  after  skirting  the  water's 
edge  for  several  miles,  it  left  the  lake  to  take  to  the  hills. 
Here,  next  morning  early,  we  parted  with  this  last 
thread  that  connected  us  with  our  kind — human  and 
equine — and  started  into  the  unknown. 

Unknown  is  a  comparative  term.     The  east  shore  of 
Eagle  Lake  has  one  habitation  along  its  twenty-eight 

80 


The  Cabin  on  the  Lake 

miles,  and  that,  I  had  been  told,  was  deserted  many 
years  ago.  The  west  edge  of  the  lake  is  precipitous 
mountains,  which,  to  the  north,  are  snow-capped  ten 
months  of  the  year.  And  there  isn't  another  house 
within  forty  miles  of  the  lake.  Except  for  the  rare 
traveler  over  the  trail,  an  occasional  prospector,  and  a 
less  frequent  trapper  or  fisherman,  the  Eagle  Lake 
country  is  unknown.  To  me,  entering  it  for  the  first 
time,  stepping  off  the  trail  into  unbroken  wilderness,  it 
was  the  land  of  romance  and  adventure. 

It  was  a  glorious  morning;  California's  springtime; 
May,  the  spring's  ripest  month;  the  south  wind  blowing 
soft  and  warm;  the  sky  its  richest  blue;  the  ground  a 
carpet  of  wild  flowers.  And  that  this  was  mineral  land, 
the  great  green  stains  on  the  dykes  of  rocks,  the  streaks 
of  white  bull-quartz  in  the  out-cropping  ledges  were 
proof  to  the  most  unobservant  eye.  Old  Baldy  was 
beautiful  only  while  the  snows  melted  and  gave  it  mois 
ture;  in  this  country  there  would  be  water  all  summer 
long,  to  keep  the  streams  singing,  the  flowers  bursting 
into  bloom.  Now  the  slopes  were  yellow  with  cowslips, 
buttercups,  sunflowers,  Johnny-jump-ups.  A  little 
later  its  carpeting  would  change  to  the  red  and  orange 
of  poppies,  spice  bush,  scarlet  gilia,  and  the  Indian  paint 
bush.  When  Baldy  was  dry  and  sear,  these  hillsides 
would  be  starred  blue  with  iris,  lupine  and  summer's 
farewell. 

I  felt  that  I  owned  it;  sunshine,  flowers  and  all  the 

81 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

hidden  ores.  I  swung  along  in  front  of  Zim,  walking 
on  air.  I  breathed  deep,  threw  my  cap  high  and  shouted 
to  hear  the  echoes  of  the  hills.  This  was  my  kingdom. 

Then,  as  I  passed  through  a  little  cluster  of  tan  oaks 
and  sycamores,  I  came  suddenly  upon  a  gray  log  cabin 
in  its  center.  Its  door  was  closed,  the  one  window  in 
front  shuttered,  the  stone  and  mud  chimney  smokeless; 
a  tangled  jungle-growth  of  vines  about  it  told  me  that 
this  was  the  deserted  hut  of  the  lake.  I  tied  Zim,  and 
opened  the  door. 

Within  was  one  snug  room,  still  fairly  tight  in  its 
shake-roof  and  chinked  walls,  with  a  hard  dirt  floor,  a 
crude  corner  fireplace,  and  two  bunks,  one  above  the 
other,  at  the  far  end.  Barring  reasonable  dirt  accumu 
lation,  it  was  quite  livable,  and  I  decided  promptly  to 
make  it  my  temporary  home  while  prospecting.  I  threw 
open  the  shutters  to  let  in  the  light,  looked  at  the  bunks, 
knelt  before  the  fireplace  to  see  that  the  chimney  was 
sound  and  safe — then  changed  my  decision !  As  quickly 
as  a  burned  nerve  can  record  its  hurt  to  the  brain,  I 
changed  my  mind  about  living  there.  The  house  had 
another  tenant.  My  knee  on  the  hearth  had  touched  a 
live  coal. 

I  retreated  quickly  to  the  door,  my  eyes  taking  in 
every  inch  of  that  small  room.  Only  those  who  know 
the  wilderness  can  appreciate  my  fright ;  those  who  un 
derstand  its  law  of  open-armed,  open-door  hospitality, 
with  the  fire  built  up  and  the  pot  placed  to  boil  at  the 

82 


The  Cabin  on  the  Lake 

first  sign  of  the  stranger's  approach.  The  hand  that  is 
not  thrust  forth  with  this  hearty  greeting  is  apt  to  be 
against  all  men,  and  we  of  Jamesville  had  learned  to 
fear  and  avoid. 

If  I  had  found  a  bear  in  that  cabin,  it  would  have 
startled  me  less  than  the  evidence  of  my  burned  trouser 
leg  that  one  of  my  own  kind  was  somewhere  about ;  my 
arm  went  back  of  me  and  my  hand  found  and  pulled 
from  its  boot  the  rifle  on  Zim's  saddle,  as  my  eyes 
searched  the  room. 

Nothing  there  to  indicate  occupancy;  no  place  for 
concealment  of  an  occupant.  The  bunks  were  open  and 
empty,  pine  needles  covering  their  bottoms.  There  was 
a  rude  board  table,  chunks  of  logs  for  chairs,  a  small  box 
standing  on  end  for  a  dresser.  That  was  all ;  dirt  floor 
ing,  walls,  shake-roof,  fireplace,  and  this  rude  furniture. 
I  could  not  believe  what  the  burned  hole  in  my  trousers 
insisted,  that  there  was  fire  in  the  chimney,  and  crossed 
the  room  again  to  verify.  There  was  an  iron  crane  in 
the  fireplace;  hot.  The  back  stones  were  hot.  A  fire 
had  been  blazing  there  not  half  an  hour  before,  and  its 
live  embers  had  been  covered  over  with  the  ashes  in  the 
attempt  to  conceal  the  fact  of  a  fire.  Somebody  had 
moved  out  of  the  cabin  almost  as  I  had  come  in. 

My  heart  beating  fast  at  this  problem  of  the  wilds,  I 
backed  out  of  the  cabin  door  and  turned  to  peer  into 
the  tangled  clump  of  trees.  Beyond  the  grove  was  the 
lake,  and  into  it  came  a  gully  which  ran  back  a  short 

83 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

distance  in  the  hills.  Listening  intently,  I  could  hear 
the  purling  of  running  water,  a  brook  in  the  gully;  then 
something  that  moved  stealthily  in  the  brush  there. 

I  took  advantage  of  the  hut's  concealing  side  to  find 
a  place  from  which  I  could,  under  shelter,  look  into  the 
little  ravine.  The  stream  was  merely  the  overflow  from 
some  spring  higher  up,  but  it  lay  in  a  deep  cut  worn  by 
flood  waters,  and  bushes  from  either  side  grew  to  meet 
and  form  a  dark  tunnel  with  foliage  for  its  roof.  It 
was  in  this  narrow  channel  that  the  movement  I  heard 
had  been.  I  strained  my  eyes  trying  to  pierce  its  gloom. 

At  the  lower  end,  where  the  brook  came  from  the 
gully,  it  had  been  roughly  dammed  with  rock  to  make  a 
pool  where  water  might  be  dipped  with  a  bucket;  and  a 
trail  ran  from  the  pool  to  the  cabin  door.  Now  as  I 
studied  it,  I  saw  the  damp  markings  of  water  as 
splashed  by  a  pail  that  had  been  carried  from  the  pool 
to  the  house.  There  was  no  pail  in  the  cabin  or  I  should 
have  seen  it;  none  in  sight  out  here  at  the  well.  The 
water  couldn't  have  been  spilled  longer  than  an  hour 
back,  for  it  would  have  entirely  disappeared,  sucked  up 
by  earth  and  sun. 

I  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  hut  a  long  while,  listen 
ing,  peering.  No  further  sound  or  motion.  I  wanted 
a  reasonable  explanation  of  this  strange  tenancy  of  the 
cabin,  hunted  my  brain  through  for  a  consistent  solution 
that  would  exclude  mystery.  Might  not  the  occupant 
have  left,  not  because  of  my  coming,  but  to  resume  a 

84 


The  Cabin  on  the  Lake 

journey,  having  no  knowledge  that  I  was  coming? 
That  could  be  possible,  although  the  trail  I'd  followed 
around  the  end  of  the  lake  was  in  plain  view  from  the 
cabin  door  and  window;  and  I  had  been  shouting  and 
singing  at  the  top  of  my  lungs  on  that  trail  for  an  hour 
or  more  before  the  fire  was  pulled  or  the  water  spilled. 
Nor  could  anyone  have  left  the  clump  of  trees  that  sur 
rounded  the  house  to  get  to  the  main  trail  or  into  the 
hills — not  openly — without  my  seeing  him.  Besides, 
that  wouldn't  explain  the  attempt  to  conceal  the  fire  in 
the  hearth,  or  the  movement  I  had  heard  in  the  gully. 
Try  my  best,  it  was  all  too  queer  to  be  pleasant,  and  I 
untied  Zim,  led  out  of  the  grove,  and  left  the  cabin  for 
someone  else  to  live  in — or  for  nobody. 

We  crossed  the  little  gully  at  its  upper  end,  and  I 
looked  at  its  lining  bushes  with  apprehension,  even 
glancing  back  at  it  after  we  had  passed;  but  there  was 
nothing  to  cause  distrust.  I  was  glad  when  the  contour 
of  the  lake  hid  it  from  view,  and  only  then  began  to  re 
gain  the  gay  spirits  with  which  I  had  started  the  day. 

Noon  came,  and  I  unpacked  Zim  for  an  hour's  rest 
while  I  ate  a  cold  luncheon;  then  we  swung  around  to 
the  east  back  from  the  lake  to  avoid  rocks  and  steep 
canons;  climbed  gradually  into  the  mountain.  I  didn't 
want  to  go  this  way.  I  hated  leaving  the  blue  waters, 
the  fresh,  cool  breeze  that  came  across  that  shining  sur 
face;  but  the  nature  of  the  hills  forced  us  back  until  I 
could  no  longer  see  the  lake.  Most  of  the  afternoon 

85 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

we  traveled  through  defiles,  and  I  began  to  understand 
why  Eagle  Lake  was  so  little  known.  It  was  too  rough, 
too  difficult  of  access;  its  banks  could  not  be  followed 
except  for  short  distances;  then  there  were  miles  and 
miles  of  rugged  way  on  mountainsides.  Zim  was  firm- 
footed  as  a  goat  among  these  rocks,  testing  each  step  of 
the  way,  keeping  three  feet  on  solid  ground  when  the 
fourth  had  lost  its  resting  place  by  the  fall  of  rocks  into 
a  chasm ;  pulling  himself  out  by  two  legs,  when  his  hind 
footing  was  dislodged.  Twice  he  almost  fell  when  the 
narrow  ledge  we  were  on  gave  way,  but  saved  himself; 
and  I  let  him  pick  his  own  course,  for  he  was  more 
knowing  than  I.  At  four  o'clock,  we  came  to  a  creek, 
high  up  in  the  mountains,  a  half  dozen  miles  from  the 
lake. 

It  wasn't  easy,  but  by  wading  in  places,  taking  to  the 
banks  in  others,  scrambling  over  rocks  and  steep  side- 
hills,  we  gradually  worked  down  where  the  bottom 
opened  up  into  a  redwood  forest.  Here  the  creek 
hugged  closely  the  southern  wall  of  the  canon,  almost  a 
precipice;  and  the  slope  of  a  wooded  mountain  came  in 
from  the  north.  The  forest  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  creek, 
its  great  trees  towering  high  above  the  canon's  top. 
Some  of  those  redwoods  were  more  than  three  hundred 
feet  high,  some  trunks  over  twenty  feet  through.  They 
were  the  Sequoia  Gigantea,  the  "  Big  Trees  "  of  Cali 
fornia. 

It  was  easy  passage  for  Zim  and  me  in  the  woods,  like 

86 


The  Cabin  on  the  Lake 

moving  through  a  deep  carpeted  cathedral  with  mam 
moth  columns.  There  was  no  underbrush,  few  small 
trees,  and  the  great  red  trunks  stood  quite  far  apart. 
The  leaves  falling  for  a  thousand  years  and  more  had 
covered  the  rocky  soil  with  a  dense  layer  of  soft  earth, 
topped  with  the  recent  fresher  droppings  from  the  trees. 
On  the  larger,  older  trees — and  some,  it  is  believed,  were 
alive  when  Christ  was  born  in  Bethlehem — there  would 
be  not  a  single  branch  from  the  main  trunk  for  a  hun 
dred  feet.  I  had  seen  redwoods  before,  scattered  groups 
of  smaller  size,  but  this  was  the  first  forest  I  had  ever 
been  in,  and  its  mellowed  color,  its  quiet,  and  the 
fragrance  of  it  were  as  wonderful  to  me  as  the  huge 
ness  of  its  trunks. 

Soon  we  came  to  its  lower  edge,  for  it  was  but  a  spur 
of  the  mountainside  woods,  an  angle  running  over  into 
the  bottoms,  and  I  stopped  Zim  in  the  last  of  its  shade 
to  look  down  the  valley  and  over  Eagle  Lake.  It  was  a 
pleasing  view  to  me,  this  cleft  in  the  hills,  an  ideal  spot 
for  my  home  while  I  prospected.  From  the  cliffs  to  the 
wooded  slopes  there  was  a  wide  stretch  of  bottom-lands, 
covered  with  grass,  with  frequent  clumps  of  laurel,  lilac, 
cascara ;  while  the  stream,  larger  here,  with  stretches  of 
quiet  water  between  the  rapids,  was  lined  with  trees  of 
greater  size.  The  flat  narrowed  quickly  at  its  lake  end, 
the  outlet  of  the  stream  being  two  stone  buttresses  some 
fifty  feet  apart,  towering  high  in  air,  like  rude  gate-posts 
to  this  caflon  garden. 

87 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

I  chose  a  pile  of  rocks  on  the  creek's  bank  a  short  dis 
tance  from  the  lake  for  my  camp,  took  the  packs  from 
Zim,  and  turned  him  loose  without  hobbles.  There  was 
little  danger  of  his  wandering  from  the  flat,  for  the 
steep  bank  to  the  south  and  the  wooded  mountain  on 
the  north  were  Nature's  fences  to  his  pasture.  As  it 
was  already  sunset,  I  hastened  to  build  a  fire  for  supper 
and  make  preparations  for  the  night. 

There  were  quail  in  the  brush  beside  the  creek;  I 
could  hear  them  whistling,  calling  to  each  other.  In  a 
digger-pine  on  the  side-hill  a  squirrel  shrilled  and 
chuckled  in  his  double-toned  song — or  monologue,  more 
likely.  A  grouse  was  drumming  somewhere  up  the 
canon.  Game.  Food.  To-morrow  I  should  begin 
conserving  bacon  by  adding  fresh  meat  and  fowl  to  my 
menu — and  fish.  Trout  in  the  stream,  fish,  many  kinds 
of  fish,  in  the  lake.  Why  should  one  eat  salty,  odorous 
bacon  in  this  land  of  plenty? 

I  should  need  a  house,  a  fireplace,  an  oven;  must 
locate  where  grew  the  wild  vegetables  that  were  food, 
the  fruits  and  nuts  that  Nature  provided.  There  should 
be  great  stores  of  cowslip,  mustard,  dock,  fronds  and 
cress  for  greens  and  salads,  palatable  bulbs,  strawberries 
and  blackberries — later,  perhaps — and  mushrooms,  toad 
stools,  puff-balls,  besides  the  delicious  nuts  of  the  digger- 
pine.  What  was  there  in  Zim's  pack  not  provided  by 
this  little  valley  of  mine?  Flour?  I  could  grind  the 
pine  nuts  into  a  meal  that  made  delicious  bread — the 

88 


The  Cabin  on  the  Lake 

Indians  used  it  in  the  old  days.  Sugar?  As  a  sweet, 
honey  was  better,  and  there  were  bees  working  among 
the  flowers  for  me.  Bacon?  Meats  were  here  a-plenty, 
with  fat  for  their  own  cooking.  Coffee?  Willow  bark 
tea  was  almost  as  good.  Salt?  Yes,  that  least  of  the 
foods  was  the  one  thing  Nature  could  not  supply  me 
here,  and  the  lack  of  it  would  make  all  else  without  savor. 
Fortunately,  knowing  the  need  of  it  for  pelt  preserva 
tion  as  well  as  food,  I  had  brought  plenty. 

So  I  ate  bacon  and  a  flour  flapjack,  coffee  and  sugar 
for  supper,  and  climbed  into  bed. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BUILDING  A  HOME 

MORNING;  the  pink  rays  of  a  rising  sun,  hid 
den  from  me  by  mountain  peaks,  glowing  on 
the  summits  across  the  lake;  my  valley  alive 
with  the  songs  of  birds,  squirrels  and  chipmunks ;  cloud 
less  blue  above;  a  world  of  green  about  me. 

Work  to  do  in  plenty;  food  getting,  house  building. 
I  leaped  from  the  blankets,  soused  the  creek  water  over 
face  and  hair,  plunging  my  arms  to  the  shoulders  in  its 
icy  coldness,  starting  the  blood  tingling  with  brisk  use 

90 


Building  a  Home 

of  the  rough  towel.  Then  a  fire,  a  flapjack,  bacon  and 
coffee. 

This  must  be  the  last  meal  of  purely  civilized  products, 
I  promised  myself.  My  first  labor  should  be  the  gather 
ing  of  food,  either  fish  or  game.  Because  I  wanted  to 
try  the  pistol  again,  with  an  idea  that  had  come  to  me 
before  sleep  last  night,  the  decision  was  for  hunting,  and 
I  reloaded  the  chambers  of  the  revolver,  leaving  the  shot 
loose,  with  only  wad  enough  above  to  hold  it  in.  Per 
haps  it  would  scatter  now ;  I  hoped  so. 

Zim  had  grazed  close,  looking  for  companionship — or 
oats.  As  I  started  on  my  expedition  up  the  creek,  he 
would  have  followed,  but  I  sent  him  back  with  instruc 
tions  to  watch  the  camp.  Hardly  had  I  gone  a  hundred 
steps  when  a  covey  of  quail  ran  briskly  out  of  a  thicket 
ahead  of  me,  crossed  an  open  space  in  a  trailing,  scat 
tered  procession  of  nodding  head-plumes  and  fluttering 
wings,  and  disappeared  in  the  lupin  brush.  I  would 
not  shoot  at  them  on  the  ground — not  with  a  shot 
gun!  I  cocked  the  revolver  and  followed  into  the 
brush. 

Expecting  it,  the  whir  of  their  wings  as  they  arose 
did  not  startle  me,  and  I  fired  into  the  midst  of  the 
covey.  Nothing  fell;  a  clean  miss.  I  might  as  well 
have  trusted  to  the  rifle.  The  birds,  scattered  now,  be 
gan  calling  to  one  another  from  their  hiding  places.  If 
I  could  sight  one  sitting,  I  might  bring  it  down.  I  had 
lost  all  compunctions.  This  weapon  was  neither  a  shot- 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

gun  nor  a  clean  shooting  rifle;  it  was  an  old,  worn-out 
army  revolver  of  ante-Civil  War  times. 

I  moved  cautiously  ahead  in  the  direction  of  the  whis 
tling;  stopped  when  I  feared  I  might  raise  the  birds 
again;  peered  long  into  the  tangle  of  brush  and  vines. 
The  mountain  quail  is  larger  than  the  Bob  White  of 
the  valleys,  almost  as  big  as  its  cousin,  the  pheasant,  but, 
though  I  searched  for  many  minutes,  heard  their  calls 
all  about  me,  not  one  could  I  locate. 

I  went  ahead,  hearing  their  whirring  flight,  seeing  the 
flicker  of  wings,  and  came  out  into  the  open  to  continue 
my  way  toward  the  redwood  forest.  A  tree  squirrel 
scolded  as  he  watched  my  approach.  Coming  within 
easy  range,  I  aimed  carefully,  fired  and  dropped  him. 
When  I  picked  him  up  I  found  that  my  shot  had  carried 
away  the  entire  upper  half  of  him. 

I  started  back  for  camp  and  my  rifle.  I  wanted 
game,  and  to  get  game  I  must  have  a  weapon  that  would 
neither  miss  entirely  nor  blow  the  mark  into  tatters  when 
it  landed.  I  might  find  grouse  or  jack-rabbit  to  bring 
down  with  a  bullet,  and  would  not  feel  that  a  cartridge 
was  wasted  on  either. 

With  the  rifle,  I  took  the  other  side  of  the  creek, 
scaring  up  a  second  covey  of  quail.  They  were  numer 
ous  in  my  domain!  I  must  plan  some  way  of  capturing 
them,  as  I  could  not  shoot  them.  Then  a  rabbit  scooted 
out  ahead  of  me  and  I  raised  the  rifle,  only  to  lower  it 
without  firing.  A  cottontail;  too  small  game  for  the 

92 


Building  a  Home 

cost  of  a  cartridge.  A  less  expensive  way  of  adding 
them  to  my  larder  should  be  found.  I  had  just  made 
up  my  mind  to  turn  back  and  trade  rifle  for  fish-line, 
when  a  jack-rabbit  rocketed  out,  scared  by  my  tread, 
and  began  a  straight-away  flight,  to  stop  and  turn  a 
somersault  as  my  rifle  cracked.  It  was  stone-dead  when 
I  came  up. 

Good  enough!  The  saddle  and  hind  quarters  were 
all  of  the  carcase  I  thought  fit  for  food,  but  there  was 
enough  for  two  hearty  meals.  I  trimmed  and  carried 
it  back  to  camp. 

The  sun  was  well  up,  and  it  seemed  time  to  have  a 
swim.  Between  the  sentinel  rocks,  the  flow  of  the  creek 
had  made  a  little  beach,  and  had  shallowed  the  water  at 
its  mouth  by  many  years'  deposits  of  sand.  Throwing 
off  my  clothes,  I  ran  in — then  ran  out.  The  water  was 
shivering  cold.  The  stream  was  bringing  down  melted 
ice.  The  flow  was  so  rapid  that  only  a  few  hours  sepa 
rated  frozen  source  and  the  creek's  mouth  at  the  lake, 
and  there  was  no  chance  for  the  water  to  warm.  I  ran 
up  and  down  the  beach  to  get  the  chill  out  of  me,  and 
stop  the  chattering  of  my  teeth. 

Even  so,  the  lake  looked  inviting  under  the  hot  sun; 
away  from  this  flow  of  melted  snow,  it  would  be  warmer. 
Working  my  way  along  the  rocky  shore,  I  kept  testing 
with  my  toe  until  I  found  a  warm  current.  Here  would 
be  a  fine  bathing  place,  except  that  it  seemed  to  lack  a 
bottom.  I  like  tubs  with  bottoms  reasonably  close  to 

93 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

the  surface  of  the  water;  not  a  thousand  feet  or  so  below 
it ;  and  the  bank  went  precipitously  down  as  though  con 
tinuing  so  forever. 

Either  I  must  dive  in  or  stay  out.  I  could  swim  fairly 
well,  but  I  had  learned,  practiced,  and  had  my  entire  ex 
perience  in  Indian  River,  where  my  feet  could  touch 
bottom  any  time  I  tired  of  kicking  them.  This  seemed 
to  be  a  case  of  "  Hang  your  clothes  on  a  hickory  limb, 
but  don't  go  near  the  water."  I  wanted  to  swim,  was 
prepared  to  swim,  and  didn't  dare  to  swim.  I  glanced 
along  the  shore  line  hoping  to  see  a  more  suitable  place 
to  launch  myself. 

A  short  distance  ahead  was  a  rock  running  into  the 
lake,  and  behind  it  seemed  to  be  a  shallower  approach. 
I  started  to  investigate,  wet  feet  slipped  on  smooth 
stone,  and  instantly  I  was  in  the  big  tub,  willy-nilly. 
Sputtering  out  the  water  I  had  taken  through  an  open 
mouth,  I  swam  to  and  around  the  jutting  rock,  finding 
no  difficulty  in  the  depth,  and  at  the  other  side  of  the 
boulder  was  just  what  I  needed;  a  shelf  that  ran  out 
gradually  to  deep  water.  And  the  sun-heated  stones 
warmed  the  lake  above  them ;  a  little  too  much  close  in, 
just  as  the  lake  beyond  was  a  whit  too  cold;  but  exactly 
right  in  between.  There  were  places  to  dive  off  the 
boulder  into  deep  water,  steps  to  climb  back  out  of  the 
lake,  and  knobs  of  rock  on  which  to  hang  my  clothes. 
I  spent  an  hour  exploring  its  advantages — and  getting 
gloriously  sunburned! 

94 


Building  a  Home 

As  I  carefully  traveled  back  to  the  creek  mouth, 
anxious  for  no  second  unexpected  dive,  I  found  that 
with  a  few  minutes'  pick-and-shovel  work  I  could  make 
a  safe,  easy  trail.  I  had  added  a  bathtub  to  the  ad 
vantages  of  my  selected  home. 

After  a  dinner  of  fried  rabbit,  I  crossed  the  bottom  to 
where  I  had  noticed  a  digger-pine  on  the  further  slope 
and  brought  home  a  bed-mattress  and  dessert  for  supper 
off  the  same  tree;  five  enormous  cones,  nine  inches  long 
by  six  through,  holding  the  nut-like  seeds,  riding  on  top 
of  branches  that  I  hauled  sledwise,  and  cut  up  to  weave 
into  a  bed.  I  stopped  on  the  way  back  long  enough  to 
gather  a  mess  of  cowslip  greens  and  fronds  of  the 
brake — the  wilderness  substitute  for  asparagus  tips — 
and  felt  that  Nature  had  begun  to  provide. 

Before  I  started  prospecting,  I  wanted  a  house,  not 
as  protection  from  the  weather,  for  there  would  be  no 
rain  before  September,  but  for  the  feeling  of  comfort 
that  comes  with  a  roof  and  walls.  I  began  work  on  it 
next  morning,  using  Zim  to  haul  several  loads  of  young 
firs  I  felled,  clearing  them  of  branches  after  I  had  them 
on  the  site.  Two  of  these,  set  in  holes,  supported  the 
ridge,  twelve  feet  long,  and  the  roof  was  of  poles  slanting 
from  ground  to  ridge,  covered  with  a  thatch  of  the 
boughs,  laid  on  like  shingles,  beginning  at  the  bottom, 
one  row  lapping  the  last,  all  tied  with  grape-vine.  Both 
ends  of  the  hut  were  closed  by  poles  set  tightly  to 
gether,  and  the  front  was  left  wide  open. 

95 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

By  evening,  it  was  complete;  a  room  eight  feet  by 
twelve,  more  than  half  of  which  was  head-high,  the 
balance  being  used  for  bunk  and  table,  not  requiring 
height.  The  floor  I  leveled  with  the  shovel,  made  a 
bunk  of  poles,  moved  my  pine-needle  mattress  in,  split 
a  redwood  log  to  make  a  table,  chopped  from  another 
two  chunks  for  chairs,  and  slept  that  night  under  cover 
and  behind  walls. 

The  next  day  I  became  a  mason,  with  rock  and  mud. 
In  selecting  the  site  for  my  cabin,  I  had  planned  that 
its  open  front  came  a  few  feet  away  from  an  enormous 
boulder,  the  back  of  my  fireplace-to-be.  In  front  of 
this  rock  I  excavated  for  an  oven,  making  a  hole  about 
two  feet  square  and  half  as  deep,  which  I  lined  with 
mud-plaster.  Two  thin  rocks  from  the  creek  made  a 
removable  cover,  and  served  as  the  floor  of  the  fireplace; 
the  theory  being  that  the  bread,  meat,  or  whatever-to- 
be-baked,  should  be  placed  in  the  cold  oven,  the  rock 
cover  adjusted,  a  hot  fire  started  on  top,  and  I'd  guess 
at  the  length  of  time  it  should  cook.  Then  the  fire  would 
be  raked  off,  the  oven  opened,  and  I'd  discover  how  good 
a  guesser  I  was. 

I  daubed  all  that  day  with  mud,  building  oven  and 
fireplace;  but  when  it  was  done  I  had  a  place  for  frying- 
pan,  coffee-pot — even  a  little  chimney  to  carry  the  smoke 
away.  And  that  night,  with  a  big  fire  in  it,  the  heat  re 
flected  back  from  the  boulder  made  my  room  as  com 
fortable  and  warm  as  anyone  could  wish.  I  stopped 

'96 


Building  a  Home 

using  "squaw  wood"  that  evening;  began  chopping 
chunks  and  splitting  them,  instead  of  breaking  up  dead 
limbs  and  pitch  knots.  I  could  time  my  oven  better 
with  real  wood. 

I  intended  to  give  my  stove  a  baking  try-out  next 
day,  biscuits  and  a  haunch  of  jack-rabbit,  but  other 
things  intervened,  and  the  mud  in  the  oven  had  plenty 
of  time  to  bake  hard  and  dry  before  I  used  it. 


CHAPTER  IX 

GOLD 

IT  had  been  an  effort  for  me  to  keep  from  gold  hunt 
ing  and  do  these  necessary  homelier  tasks.     As  it 
was,  I  had  inspected  every  stone  I  used  in  the  chim 
ney,  had  picked  up  and  thrown  away  scores  of  smaller 
likelier  looking  bits  in  my  walks  about  camp,  searching 
always  for  "  signs."     I  knew  gold  in  the  usual  forms 
found  in  these  hills,  in  quartz  or  combination  with  other 
metals,  for  my  father  had  given  me  training,  and  I  had 
lived  a  good  deal  with  miners  and  prospectors. 

The  first  move  in  the  search  for  gold  must  be  a  care- 

98 


Gold 

ful  test  of  the  creek  sands.  Next  morning,  carry  ing- 
pick,  shovel  and  pan,  I  went  up  the  stream  to  a  place 
I  had  noticed  where  the  waters,  making  a  sharp  curve, 
had  worn  a  deep  cut  between  rocks.  If  there  was  gold 
in  ledge  formation  above  in  the  mountains,  on  either 
side  of  this  creek  or  its  tributaries,  here  was  a  likely 
place  for  a  sink.  The  current  carrying  down  dirt, 
gravel,  even  rocks,  torn  and  ground  from  earth  and 
ledge  in  the  spring  thaws,  would  be  apt  to  deposit  part 
of  this  debris  at  the  barrier  that  caused  the  stream  to 
swerve  in  its  course.  Naturally,  the  heaviest  part  would 
be  left  behind,  and  that  would  include  gold,  the  heavi 
est  of  metals. 

At  the  lower  end  of  this  curve,  I  waded  in  up  to  my 
waist  in  the  icy  water,  and  with  the  pick  cleared  away 
rocks  to  get  below  the  later  settlings  to  the  accumula 
tion  of  past  years.  I  needed  only  to  make  a  test  for 
gold,  so  did  not  try  to  get  to  bed-rock,  where  the  gold 
finally  lands.  The  question  for  me  to  determine  was 
simply,  was  there  or  was  there  not  gold  in  the  lands 
drained  by  this  creek;  if  so,  I  should  find  "  colors  "  in 
the  creek  sands ;  if  I  did  not  find  an  indication  in  a  pan 
taken  near  surface,  then  I  should  try  a  second  at  greater 
depth;  and  continue  until  I  found  a  trace  of  the  metal 
or  became  convinced  at  bed-rock  that  there  was  nothing 
of  value  above  the  stream. 

I  loaded  the  miner's  pan  with  gravel,  placed  it  on 
the  bank,  and  followed  it  out.  The  metal  bowl  was  as 

99 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

big  around  as  a  dishpan,  made  of  steel,  and  with  its  wet 
contents  was  a  heavy  weight.  The  sides  of  the  pan 
sloped  gradually  almost  from  its  center.  My  job  was 
to  rid  that  great  bowl  of  its  six  or  seven  pounds  of 
gravel  without  losing  the  one  tiny  flake  of  gold,  per 
haps  no  larger  than  a  pinhead,  that  might  be  somewhere 
in  its  contents. 

The  beginning  was  easy.  I  took  out  with  my  fingers 
and  threw  away  the  larger  stones  and  pieces  of  gravel, 
trusting  eyesight  to  make  no  mistake  with  them;  then 
shook  up  the  remaining  sand  and  thrust  the  pan  beneath 
the  surface  of  the  stream  to  let  the  current  carry  away 
the  top  layer.  There  would  be  no  metal  in  that,  for  the 
shaking  I  had  given  it  would  have  sent  all  the  heavier 
bits  toward  the  bottom.  Several  times  I  repeated  this 
process,  reducing  the  contents  of  the  pan  more  than 
half,  then  I  sat  down  on  the  bank,  my  sleeves  rolled  up 
above  the  elbows,  and  began  the  slow  and  serious  process 
of  "  panning." 

With  the  metal  dish  just  far  enough  under  the  sur 
face  of  the  water  to  be  covered  but  still  in  plain  view,  I 
moved  it  with  a  peculiar  motion  of  the  wrists  which  gave 
the  contents  a  slow,  oscillating  movement,  half-way 
around,  then  back.  Each  grain  of  sand  shifted  to  give 
the  heavier  particles  the  opportunity  to  settle  lower, 
deeper  down ;  while  the  current  flushed  away  the  lighter 
debris.  Back  and  forth,  to  and  fro,  slowly,  regularly, 
the  pan's  rim  angled  down  to  let  the  moving  water  have 

100 


THERE  WAS  GOLD  IN  THE  PAN  ! 


Gold 

its  way ;  the  sands  became  fewer,  as  my  muscles  cramped 
and  ached.  It  seemed  endless ;  my  bent  back  was  break 
ing,  but  I  kept  at  the  work,  avoiding  any  abrupt  or  im 
patient  motion  that  might  imperil  the  world-old  law  of 
gravity,  and  make  my  test  valueless.  Care,  time,  atten 
tion  and  patience;  these  were  the  essentials  of  gold- 
panning. 

Though  I  expected  little  or  nothing  from  this  test, 
excitement  came  as  more  and  more  of  the  bottom  of  the 
pan  began  to  show  through  the  decreasing  sands.  There 
is  always  that  pleasurable  thrill  in  the  "  clean-up," 
whether  of  sluice,  cradle  or  a  miner's  pan.  My  reason 
told  me  that  the  creek  must  have  been  prospected  many 
times  before,  and  would  never  have  been  passed  over  if 
it  held  gold  in  sufficient  quantities  for  placer  mining; 
but  nothing  could  keep  back  the  agitation  of  quickened 
heart-beats,  as  I  brought  the  pan  from  the  water  and 
began  the  last  wash. 

The  pan,  swinging  back  and  forth,  shifted  debris  to 
the  edge  to  wash  out  with  the  water;  each  moment  the 
contents  lessened;  then  the  sand  began  to  stretch  out  in 
a  band,  and  I  slowed  the  motion  of  my  wrists.  Only  a 
thin,  narrow  layer  of  the  dirt  left ;  only  enough  water  to 
well  cover  it;  and  at  the  ends  of  the  ribbon  of  sand, 
glints  of  yellow — gold !  There  was  gold  in  the  pan ! 

Restraining  an  impatience  to  rush  the  work  and  find 
out  all  in  a  minute  what  those  gold  particles  meant,  I 
worked  slowly,  steadily.  I  could  not  keep  my  eye  from 

101 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

searching  out  the  shining  flecks,  but  I  could  restrain 
my  hand  from  trying  to  separate  what  only  water  and 
gravity  could  satisfactorily  do.  It  was  cruelly  de 
liberate,  nerve-racking  work,  but  it  was  certain.  I  for 
got  fatigue,  the  aches  of  my  arms  and  back,  and  let  the 
law  which  holds  the  universe  together,  the  earth  to  its 
orbit,  and  brings  the  ripe  apple  from  the  branch  to  the 
ground,  solve  for  me  the  riddle  of  the  creek-sands. 

Now  there  strung  out  around  the  bottom  a  glittering 
line  of  yellow  particles,  and  I  slowed  motion  to  let  the 
last  driblet  of  water  wash  over  the  rim  the  last  grains  of 
sand.  It  was  finished ;  a  shovelful  of  the  creek's  bottom 
had  been  separated  to  reveal  its  hidden  treasure;  and 
the  result  seemed  to  my  staring  eyes  the  wildest  of 
dreams.  There  was  color  half  around  the  bottom ! 

Coarse  gold;  "  dust,"  it  would  be  called  by  the  miners; 
the  largest  pellet  not  half  the  size  of  a  pea.  But,  al 
though  I  had  no  scales  to  weigh  it,  I  knew  there  was 
nearly  two  ounces  in  the  pan.  Should  the  creek  bottom 
hold  in  such  proportion  for  even  a  short  distance  above, 
I  had  made  a  rich  find.  And  this  sample  was  from  near 
the  top,  not  from  bed-rock,  where  I  might  expect  richer 
earth.  It  was  wealth ! 

I  held  a  celebration  then  and  there  on  the  bank  of  the 
stream,  a  joy-dance  about  the  pan  and  its  precious  load. 
In  boyish  spirit,  I  kicked  my  heels  in  air  and  shouted  to 
the  echoing  rocks.  If  the  rifle  or  revolver  had  been 
handy,  I  should  have  added  fireworks  to  the  fiesta,  but 

102 


Gold 

fortunately  for  my  limited  supply  of  ammunition,  the 
guns  were  down  at  the  hut.  I  had  a  longing  to  tell 
somebody  the  glad  news,  share  my  happiness  with  a 
friend,  and  wished  Lem  was  there  to  join  in  the  cele 
bration — even  Lem  Strong,  whom  I  did  not  always  like, 
and  could  not  always  trust. 

Then  I  remembered  Zim,  my  good  companion  on  this 
search.  Zim  could  celebrate;  could  kick  his  heels  in 
air,  neigh  quite  heartily.  He  should  share  in  my  good 
fortune  to  the  extent  of  an  immediate  double-handful  of 
oats.  I  ran  up  the  canon,  whistling  his  call  on  my 
fingers. 

The  horse  gave  no  heed,  nor  was  he  on  the  meadow 
below  the  redwoods  where  he  usually  pastured.  I 
skirted  their  edge,  whistling,  then  crossed  through  the 
trees  to  that  little  strip  of  bottom-land  above.  Not  there. 
For  an  hour  I  continued  a  useless  search  before  I  gave 
over,  and  returned  to  my  camp  and  dinner.  It  was  a 
bitter  setback;  I'd  have  to  stop  mining,  with  its  wild 
excitement,  and  hunt  up  Zim.  I  assumed  that  he  had 
again  started  for  home,  or  for  Ophir  Creek,  at  least,  and 
I'd  have  to  waste  several  days  fetching  him. 

I  returned  to  the  scene  of  the  celebration  after  dinner, 
but  I  brought  little  of  the  spirit  of  it  with  me.  I  didn't 
want  to  go  hunt  Zim;  I  wanted  to  get  another  panful 
of  the  creek's  bottom  and  watch  the  mud  become  riches. 
Zim  was  a  nuisance.  If  I  had  been  sure  he  would  find 
home,  I'd  have  left  him  to  wander  back  there;  but  that 

103 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

was  no  certainty.  It  was  a  long,  devious  trail,  and  there 
were  too  many  mountain  lions  in  the  hills. 

Well,  I'd  get  out  one  more  pan  before  I  started. 
Again  I  waded  into  the  creek  and  dug  deeper  where  I 
had  taken  out  the  first  shovelful  of  sand.  I  washed  it; 
filled  the  pan  again  and  washed  it;  and  it  was  almost 
sunset  when  I  went  back  to  camp,  more  than  a  hundred 
dollars  richer  than  when  the  sun  had  risen,  in  virgin 
wealth  of  gold  that  had  been  new-born  from  the  earth. 
No  one  had  lost  that  I  might  gain;  I  had  brought  this 
new  wealth  into  being. 

Then  Zim,  poked  away  at  the  back  of  my  mind  by  the 
absorption  of  mining,  became  the  main  thought.  I  had 
neglected  him  too  long  to  start  after  him  before  morn 
ing.  He  was  probably  right  now  grazing  at  Ophir 
Creek.  I'd  get  away  at  daybreak  to  be  there  by  noon; 
ride  him  back  in  the  afternoon  and  evening.  I  went  to 
get  the  bridle,  for  the  halter  that  I  always  left  on  him, 
the  hackamore  with  its  rope  knotted  up  under  the  throat 
strap,  made  guiding  difficult.  Saddle  and  bridle  were 
draped  on  a  tree-trunk  by  the  creek  beside  my  hut. 

Should  be,  rather;  for  neither  saddle  nor  bridle  was 
there  when  I  went  for  them.  Gone.  Stolen.  In  the 
instant  I  realized  that  Zim  had  not  strayed.  He  had 
been  stolen.  He  was  not  a  runaway,  but  a  thief's 
booty.  While  I  was  working  at  the  creek,  panning 
gold,  someone  had  taken  horse,  saddle  and  bridle  almost 
from  under  my  eyes.  Had  I  glanced  up,  I  must  have 

104 


Gold 

seen  the  thief,  for  he  would  need  to  pass  close  to  me 
carrying  the  saddle  to  the  horse,  or  leading  Zim  to  where 
saddle  and  bridle  had  been. 

Back  to  mind  rushed  the  suspicions  of  the  past,  the 
hidden  horseman  on  Old  Baldy's  trail,  the  broken  lock 
of  my  cabin  there  at  the  claim,  the  strange  footprint  in 
the  mesquite  gully,  and  the  mysterious  occupant  of  the 
log  house  down  the  lake.  Did  these  unexplained  inci 
dents  all  connect  with  the  stealing  of  Zim?  And  was 
the  theft  of  my  horse  the  reason  for  them — or  only  a 
link  in  the  chain  of  peculiar  events?  Would  Zim  be 
coveted  so  much  that  I  should  be  followed  for  days  and 
many  miles  through  the  rough  mountains  to  secure  him? 
It  did  not  seem  reasonable. 

While  I  was  studying  this  disquieting  problem,  I  got 
supper ;  and  my  rifle  leaned  against  the  rock  within  reach 
of  my  hand.  Nothing  else  was  missing  but  Zim,  his 
saddle  and  bridle.  The  thief  might  as  easily  have  added 
my  two  guns  and  all  my  supplies.  Why  had  he  not 
done  so?  Why  had  he  not  stolen  Zim  before?  There 
was  opportunity  enough  any  day  or  night  since  I  left 
Jamesville.  Why  had  he  waited  till  the  day  I  found 
gold — gold  in  plenty?  Did  he  know — that  thief — that 
I  had  discovered  gold? 

While  I  ate  bacon  and  flapjack  my  eyes  kept  roving 
over  the  landscape,  prying  into  the  lengthening  shadows. 
I  was  scared.  It  was  all  so  inexplainable.  There  was 
the  feeling  that  I  was  being  spied  upon.  Carrying  the 

105 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

rifle,  I  went  down  to  the  lake,  climbed  the  higher  of  the 
two  rocks  which  made  the  portal  to  my  valley,  and  from 
its  lofty  summit  gave  a  careful  survey,  north,  south, 
east  and  west,  over  land  and  water,  in  the  clear  light  of 
early  evening.  From  below  me,  the  lake  stretched 
away  for  miles  to  the  north  and  west,  barren  waters 
rimmed  by  barren  hills ;  back  of  me,  my  own  little  canon, 
its  ruggedness  softened  by  the  afterglow,  its  far  end 
curtained  by  the  towering  redwoods.  Then  my  eyes 
turned  southward.  The  transparent  air  brought  things 
closer,  shortening  the  miles,  and  I  could  see,  like  a  thin, 
yellow  thread,  the  trail  along  the  lake  shore  from  where 
it  came  out  of  the  woods  until  it  was  lost  in  the  hills  on 
its  way  to  Susanville. 

I  followed  it  with  my  eyes,  hoping  to  see  the  speck 
which  might  mean  Zim ;  and  suddenly  stopped  short,  my 
gaze  riveted  on  a  thin  spiral  of  gray  that  rose  in  the 
moveless  air  to  a  great  height ;  a  streamer  of  smoke  that 
reached  from  a  clump  of  green  near  the  lake's  edge  to 
be  diffused  high  in  the  sky.  It  came  from  the  stone- 
and-mud  chimney  of  the  deserted  log  cabin. 

For  a  long  time  I  sat  and  watched  that  line  of  smoke 
in  apprehensive  wonder.  The  queer  tenant  was  still 
in  the  hut;  did  he  have  my  Zim?  I  had  determined  to 
find  out,  to  go  there  next  morning  openly  and  look,  ask, 
even  demand,  when  a  new  idea,  more  disquieting  than 
any  that  had  ranged  through  my  brain  before,  came  to 
make  me  abandon  the  notion,  and  climb  down  the  rock 

106 


Gold 

more  quickly  than  I  had  come.  If  the  stranger  in  the 
cabin — if  the  thief  of  my  horse — two  men  or  the 
same — knew  I  had  discovered  gold  in  valuable  quantity, 
I  must  stay  by  my  claim  to  protect  it,  or  abandon  it 
completely.  If  I  left  to  search  for  Zim,  I  should  be 
"  jumped." 

"  My  claim  "?  Why,  it  wasn't  even  a  claim!  I  had 
merely  made  a  discovery,  and  there  was  not  a  single 
witness  to  that!  Should  I  be  jumped — should  someone 
by  stratagem  or  force  take  the  find  from  me — I  could 
not  possibly  prove  in  a  court  of  law  that  I  held  prior 
rights  of  discovery.  Nor  did  I  dare  mark  the  claim, 
set  a  post  or  cairn  of  rocks  at  the  curve  of  the  creek 
where  I  had  found  gold,  for  that  would  tell  the  thief — if 
he  was  not  already  wise — just  where  the  gold  lay.  No. 
If  I  intended  to  keep  what  I  had  discovered,  the  only 
way  was  to  stay  by  it  and  refuse  to  be  driven  from  it, 
or  be  led  away  on  rainbow-chases. 

"  If  I  intended  to  keep  "  it?  Did  I  intend  to  keep 
it?  Was  I  willing  to  fight  for  it?  At  my  hut  again, 
I  debated  that  question,  though  all  the  while  I  argued 
pro  and  con,  I  was  drowning  the  embers  of  the  fire  so 
it  would  not  betray  me  by  its  flame,  was  filling  the  maga 
zine  of  the  rifle  with  cartridges,  reloading  the  emptied 
chambers  of  the  revolver,  gathering  my  supplies  closer 
to  hand,  making  all  safe  for  attack  or  siege.  That  find 
of  wealth  was  mine;  it  meant  ease  from  labor  and  com 
fort  for  Mother  Laing,  education  for  me.  I  wanted 

107 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

it— needed  it.  I  had  faced  the  raw  mountains  to  get  it. 
I  had  earned  it.  Still,  I  was  only  a  boy,  and  this  other 
who  would  take  it  from  me  was  a  man,  ncf  doubt  armed 
and  ready  to  do  anything  to  secure  it.  Life  was  very 
precious  to  me;  is  to  any  boy;  and  I  might  find  another 
claim  elsewhere  some  other  day.  There  were  plenty  of 
places  to  search,  plenty  of  years  for  searching,  if  I  was 
alive  to  search.  Suppose  I  gathered  together  what  I 
could  carry  on  my  back  now  and  left  the  night-black 
ened  canon  for  the  home  trail,  I'd  at  least  be  sound  in 
health  and  body,  alive,  uninjured,  and  a  hundred  dollars 
better  off  than  I  was  this  morning. 

"  He  who  fights  and  runs  away,  may  live  to  fight  an 
other  day."  I  had  smiled  scornfully  at  the  jingle  many 
a  time;  but  it  was  not  my  problem  then.  To-night  it 
was.  As  I  sat  in  the  dark,  my  back  against  the  cold 
rock  chimney,  the  rifle  across  my  lap,  looking  up  toward 
the  curve  in  the  creek  where  my  gold  lay  under  its 
waters,  I  realized  that  there  were  two  sides  to  the  implied 
argument  of  the  rhyme.  Fight  or  run  away.  Take  the 
chance  of  death — perhaps — or  slip  silently  through  the 
night  to  Mother  Laing's  bright  fire  and  wonderful  cook 
ing. 

It  was  the  one  big  issue,  the  determination  of  right 
and  wrong,  that  decided  me  finally,  after  I  had  mulled 
over  all  the  side-paths  and  by-trails  half  the  night.  The 
find  was  rightly  mine;  who  took  it  from  me  would  do  a 
wrong.  That  right  and  that  wrong  affected  not  only 

108 


Gold 

him  who  stole  and  me  who  gave  cowardly  agreement  to 
that  theft,  but  all  the  world  as  well.  The  right  was 
worth  fighting  for,  whether  my  claim  was  or  not;  was 
worth  fright,  privation,  wounds, — even  death.  I'd  stay. 
And  I  fell  asleep  in  a  minute  with  my  gun  across  my 
knees. 

I  woke  up,  cramped  and  aching,  to  a  cheerful  sun  and 
a  smiling  blue  lake.  I  climbed  the  sentinel  rock  even 
before  I  washed,  but  there  was  nothing  save  the  land 
scape  to  be  seen  from  there;  no  trail  of  smoke  from  the 
hidden  chimney.  I  ate  breakfast  in  a  quite  happy  frame 
of  mind,  and  went  up  creek  to  where  pick,  shovel  and 
pan  lay  on  its  bank.  Carrying  them  with  me,  I  went  a 
hundred  yards  or  so  above  the  place  of  discovery  to 
where  I  had  already  located  the  best  spot  to  turn  the 
course  of  the  creek,  and  began  work  on  a  dam  that 
would  uncover  the  bottom  of  the  stream  for  a  long 
stretch  above  my  sink. 

The  construction  of  this  barrier  was  the  crudest  pos 
sible.  I  rolled  up  and  dumped  into  the  stream  the 
largest  rocks  I  could  handle  with  the  pick  and  a  long 
sapling  for  levers,  stones  so  heavy  that  the  current  could 
not  carry  them  down,  and  shoveled  gravel  and  dirt  from 
the  bank  to  fill  the  cavities  between  them;  a  rock  and 
dirt  dam.  But  it  was  hard  work  and  slow  work.  To 
resist  the  force  of  the  swift  waters,  it  had  to  be  a  wide 
structure,  and  though  the  stretch  was  narrow,  it  meant 
a  great  amount  of  filling.  All  that  day  I  worked, 

109 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

loaded  rifle  close  at  hand,  eyes  frequently  cast  around 
to  overlook  the  canon,  and  when  I  finally  went  home  to 
get  supper,  I  was  not  half  finished.  Again  I  climbed 
the  sentinel  rock  to  find  no  sign  of  human  habitation 
anywhere. 

Two  days  more  I  gave  to  the  building  of  the  dam  and 
a  ditch  from  above  it  through  which  the  stream  would 
flow  to  return  to  its  old  bed  below  the  spot  where  I  had 
found  gold.  Twice  I  had  to  deepen  the  ditch  to  relieve 
the  pressure  on  the  dam,  which,  without  mortar,  I  could 
not  make  strong  enough  otherwise  to  stand  the  current; 
and  it  was  the  evening  of  the  third  day  that  I  closed  the 
last  gap  in  the  barrier,  and  watched  the  water  start  its 
mill-race  course  through  the  new  trench.  By  morning  a 
long  strip  of  the  bottom,  including  the  place  where  I  had 
taken  out  a  few  shovels  of  rich  sand,  would  be  compara 
tively  free  from  water,  and  I  could  begin  mining.  Even 
as  I  looked  the  stream  lowered  to  a  mere  trickle,  in  the 
midst  of  a  series  of  puddles. 

I  wheeled  at  the  sound  of  a  whinny  behind  me  to  find 
Zim  standing  at  the  end  of  my  new  dam  looking  at  me, 
and  I  jumped  for  him,  shouting: 

"Zim!  Zim,  old  horse!  Where — how  did  you  get 
here? "  There  he  was,  just  as  if  he'd  never  been  away, 
hackamore  on,  but  without  saddle  or  bridle,  maybe  a 
few  more  burrs  in  his  tail,  perhaps  a  bit  droopier  of 
head;  but  dear  old  Zim,  trying  to  stick  his  muzzle  into 
the  pocket  where  I  sometimes  carried  oats.  I  hugged 

no 


Gold 

him  and  jumped  up  and  down  for  joy.  I  was  so  tickled 
that  for  a  time  I  did  not  begin  to  wonder  at  this  strange 
return,  more  mysterious  even  than  his  going.  Enough 
that  he  was  back  with  me  again.  When  the  thought  did 
come,  I  looked  quickly  toward  my  hut  to  see  smoke 
rising  from  behind  the  little  building.  Astonished,  my 
eyes  went  to  that  place  in  the  thicket  where  I  had  kept 
Zim's  saddle  and  bridle.  Even  at  this  distance  I  could 
see  them!  Slowly  I  went  and  picked  up  the  rifle, 
pressed  down  the  lever  to  load  and  cock  it;  then,  lead 
ing  Zim,  fear  stalking  beside  me,  I  walked  down  the 
gully  to  my  lean-to. 


in 


CHAPTER  X 

I  FIND  A  PAETNEB 

I'D  like  to  be  able  to  say  that  I  walked  boldly  up  to 
the  open  front  of  my  shack,  and  ordered  the  in 
truder  off  the  premises.     I  can't,  honestly.     It  was 
from  a  considerable  distance  and  after  wetting  my  lips 
twice  with  my  tongue  that  I  managed  a  weak  and 
quavering  hail: 

"Hello,  there!    Who's  inside? " 
There  was  no  answer;  I  hadn't  been  loud  enough. 
I  chose  a  gruff  voice  and  put  more  lungs  behind  it,  re 
peating  my  call.     Then,   around  the  corner  of  the 

112 


I  Find  a  Partner 

lean-to,  yelling  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  bounded  Lem 
Strong.  The  rifle  almost  slipped  from  my  hands.  I 
lowered  the  muzzle,  let  down  the  hammer,  and  laid  it 
aside  to  grab  Lem  in  a  bear-like  hug  that  almost  cracked 
his  ribs.  Relief  and  joy  had  driven  from  mind  all  my 
old  doubts  of  him,  as  I  shouted: 

"  Lem — you  old  tow-headed  shiedpoke!  How  in  the 
hemisphere  did  you  get  here?  " 

But  Lem  wasn't  answering  questions  just  then.  He 
was  hanging  on  to  me,  his  wide  grin  a  bit  trembly,  say 
ing  over  and  over: 

"  Ted,  I  found  you  at  last — found  you  at  last! " 

"  Yes,  yes — you've  found  me,  though  how  you  did 
it  beats  me!  What  did  you  do?  Give  Zim  the  rein 
and  let  him  bring  you? " 

"  Zim?  "  I  caught  the  question  in  his  tone.  "  No. 
I  asked  Mrs.  Laing  where  you'd  gone  and  she  said  to 
Eagle  Lake.  So  I  came." 

"  But  Eagle  Lake  is  a  big  field  to  find  one  boy  in. 
You  didn't  come  on  that  wild  chance?  " 

"  Yes,  Ted,  on  just  that.  I  didn't  know.  I  suppose 
I  thought  it  would  be  easy  as  pudding.  Only  last  night 
I  saw  the  light  of  your  fire  up  the  lake,  and  I've  been 
getting  here  ever  since.  Say,  Ted,  the  sidewalks  around 
here  sure  need  fixing!  " 

I  laughed.  We  were  at  the  shack  now,  where  the 
blaze  Lem  had  started  was  cracking  briskly.  As  I 
pulled  the  side  of  bacon  from  the  burlaps,  I  asked: 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"Why  didn't  you  ride?  Zim  would  have  carried 
you  easy  over  all  the  roughness." 

Again  that  look  of  surprise.  "Zim?  Zim?  What's 
all  this  Zim  stuff,  Ted? " 

"  My  horse.  That's  his  name.  The  horse  you 
brought  back."  I  was  cutting  many  thick  slices  of  the 
salt  meat,  for  I  knew  Lem  would  be  hungry  as  a  mid 
winter  coyote ;  but  I  looked  up  on  a  long  silence  to  find 
his  freckled  face  staring  at  me  in  perplexity. 

"  Quit  your  kidding,"  he  said.  "  I  didn't  bring  a 
horse." 

My  distrust  came  back  in  force.  Lem's  arrival  and 
Zim's  return  were  firmly  linked  together  in  my  mind. 
Was  he  joking  now,  playing  some  trick  on  rne?  I 
placed  the  skillet  over  the  fire  and  started  mixing  flap 
jack  batter.  Lem  broke  the  silence,  asking  anxiously: 

"  What  about  Zim,  Ted? "  and  I  came  back  bluntly: 

"  He  was  stolen." 

"  You  think  I  stole  him?  "  Lem  came  to  his  feet 
with  a  bound,  then  sank  back  on  the  bed.  "  Why,  Ted, 
I " 

"  No,  no.  I  think  you  brought  him  back.  Didn't 
you? " 

"  Not.  N-o-t,  not !  I  put  all  horses  behind  me  when 
I  quit  my  job  at  Wayne's  stables.  But,  Ted,  so  long 
as  Zim's  back,  you  should  worry." 

I  did  worry;  had  reason  to.  If  Lem  was  lying,  I 
must  worry  over  why;  if  he  was  telling  the  truth,  then 

114 


I  Find  a  Partner 

what  was  the  explanation  of  Zim?  While  the  coffee 
gurgled  in  the  pot,  I  flipped  a  pancake  in  air  and  studied 
the  situation,  to  ask  finally : 

"  Was  there  anybody  in  the  log  cabin  down  the  lake 
when  you  passed  it?  " 

"  No.    I  pried  in.    Bare  as  a  dog-bone." 

There  had  been  an  occupant  of  the  cabin  when  I  first 
struck  the  shore  of  the  lake,  and  as  recently  as  three 
nights  before.  He  had  quite  possibly  taken  Zim  and 
returned  him.  Lem  might  have  been  that  occupant. 
It  had  taken  me  four  days  to  get  to  the  lake.  Lem 
could  have  made  it  in  less  than  two.  If  he  started  from 
Jamesville  within  forty-eight  hours  of  my  leaving,  he 
might  have  been  hiding  at  the  cabin  when  I  arrived. 
If  I  could  find  motive  for  such  action,  for  concealment 
and  furtive  spying  upon  me,  the  taking  and  returning 
of  Zim,  I  must  believe  that  Lem  was  lying  to  me 
now. 

He  might  have  read  the  suspicion  written  on  my  face, 
had  my  back  not  been  toward  him  as  I  worked  at  the 
fire.  As  it  was,  he  seemed  to  sense  my  distrust,  for  he 
spoke  at  last,  and  in  his  voice  was  something  that  made 
me  turn  and  stare  at  him. 

:<  Ted,  if  you've  got  any  hunch  that  I'm  fibbing,  slant 
your  eye  at  those  clogs,"  and  he  poked  out  two  feet 
whose  flimsy  shoes  were  worn  to  tatters,  the  socks  to 
rags,  the  flesh  scratched,  cut  and  bleeding.  I  looked 
dismay,  as  I  gasped: 

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Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  For  tHe  love  of  Mike,  how  long  have  you  been  on 
the  trail? " 

"  On  the  trail? "  he  echoed,  and  his  pale  face  broke 
again  into  a  grin;  "not  enough  on  the  trail  to  get 
acquainted.  Off  the  trail,  in  the  brush,  over  it  and  un 
der  it,  dodging  rocks  and  climbing  'em,  I've  been  five 
days  and  nights." 

I  drew  in  my  breath  with  a  long  whistle.  I  could  not 
disbelieve  the  evidence  of  those  feet.  I  looked  across 
the  creek  to  where  Zim  grazed;  at  the  cottonwood  where 
hung  the  saddle  and  bridle;  then  at  Lem  Strong's  big- 
toothed  smile.  Was  there  really  no  connection  between 
horse  and  boy?  Had  their  simultaneous  arrival  been 
mere  coincidence?  I  dropped  the  matter  for  the  mo 
ment  to  ask: 

"  When  did  you  last  eat,  Lem? " 

"  I — don't — remember."  He  spoke  slowly,  and  very 
low.  "  It  may  have  been  yesterday  morning — or  the 
day  before.  I " 

"Quit  talking  and  eat!"  I  shouted,  throwing  the 
flapjack  on  a  plate  with  bacon  atop  it,  thrusting  them 
across  the  table  to  him.  "  Not  another  word  out  of  you 
till  you  get  that  into  you.  Eat!  " 

He  needed  no  urging;  and  I  poured  another  and 
thicker  cake  into  the  hot  skillet,  then  began  tumultu- 
ously  to  mix  more  batter,  muttering,  "  No  food  for  two 
days — maybe  three;  and  can't  remember!"  I  knew 
what  the  mountain-hunger  was,  and  I  kept  piling  his 

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I  Find  a  Partner 

plate  until  he  cried  quits.  At  last  he  leaned  back  con 
tentedly,  a  tin  cup  of  black  coffee  in  his  hand,  and  com 
manded: 

"A  perfecto,  Jeems." 

"  Just  out,  your  lordship,"  I  laughed. 

"  No  smokes?  No  cigarettes?  Not  even  the  mak 
ings?" 

"  Not  one  grain  of  tobacco  about,  Lem.  I  don't 
smoke,  you  know." 

"Christmas  Eve!  And  here's  where  I  begin  this 
reform-wave  stuff.  No  more  cigarettes  for  Lemuel  P. 
Strong.  It's  a  croo-el,  croo-el  woild !  "  He  gave  a  deep 
sigh,  then  grinned.  Always  my  suspicions  lost  force  at 
that  wide,  wholesome  smile.  Reassured,  I  began  my 
more  leisurely  supper  off  the  same  plate — there  was  only 
the  one — with  the  same  knife  and  fork — there  were  no 
others — while  I  waited  for  coffee  until  Lem  was  through 
with  our  lonely  cup.  Housekeeping  would  have  its 
difficulties  with  this  increased  family. 

Lem  told  the  story  of  his  runaway  as  I  took  the  edge 
off  a  very  fair  appetite.  On  the  morning  Zim  and  I 
left  Jamesville  to  hunt  gold,  he  had  determined  to  find 
and  join  me.  As  he  put  it,  I  was  about  the  only  friend 
he  had  in  the  world,  and  my  bungling  excuses  for  not 
taking  him  with  me  had  been  misconstrued. 

"  When  I  began  to  work  my  think-tank,"  he  said,  "  I 
saw  just  how  you  felt.  You  was  scared  it  might  be 
wrong  to  help  me  away,  but  you'd  like  to  have  me  if  it 

117 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

wasn't  crooked.  If  you  had  no  hand  in  it,  you'd  be 
tickled  to  see  me;  so  I  asked  Mrs.  Laing  where  you'd 
gone,  and  I  waited  my  chance  to  follow.  Wayne  used 
to  lock  me  up  nights,  and  have  Fong  or  Pon  Sing 
watch  me  daytimes,  for  he  got  the  hunch  I  was  trying 
for  a  getaway. 

"My  opening  came  last  Thursday;  both  the  Chinks 
were  off  somewhere.  Along  late  in  the  afternoon,  Pon 
rode  up  to  the  hotel  and  got  Wayne,  and  they  started 
away  on  horses.  Old  Wayne  was  so  excited  about 
something  the  Chink  told  him  that  he  forgot  me;  and 
that  was  my  dandy  chance.  I  went  to  the  barn  and  got 
the  grub  I'd  been  saving — sneaking  it  off  my  plate  into 
my  pocket  at  meals — and  I  lit  out  for  Engals." 

"  Then  you  came  the  Engals'  trail?  "  I  interrupted. 

"  Don't  ask  me  how  I  came,  Ted;  I  don't  know.  I 
walked  to  Engals  that  night,  and  next  morning  a 
rancher  who  seemed  to  think  I  belonged  in  a  circus  tent 
or  an  asylum  for  nuts,  showed  me  the  beginning  of  the 
path  to  Eagle  Lake.  And  I've  been  coming  ever  since, 
plugging  along  nights  to  keep  warm,  snoozing  a  few 
hours  in  the  middle  of  the  day.  I  hit  the  end  of  the 
lake  about  four  o'clock  yesterday  afternoon,  and  was  so 
dog-tired  I  dropped  down  on  the  sand  beach  and 
slept.  When  I  woke  up,  it  was  night,  and  I  saw  your 
fire." 

"  Saw  my  fire? "  I  repeated  his  words.  "  You 
couldn't  have  seen  my  fire  from  the  end  of  the  lake." 

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I  Find  a  Partner 

Lem  looked  at  it,  gazed  at  the  canon's  sides,  at  the 
two  rock  pillars;  then  shook  his  head  and  said  vaguely: 

"  I  saw  a  fire,  Ted;  I'll  swear  I  did.  It  couldn't  have 
been  yours — not  unless  you  built  one  on  the  shore.  And 
it  wasn't  so  far  up  the  lake,  I  know  now.  It  was  nearer 
where  that  house  is " 

"  It  was  in  that  cabin.  Someone  is  living  there. 
You  saw  the  blaze  through  the  window  or  door." 

"  I  guess  maybe,  but  things  look  so  different  at  night. 
When  I  came  to  that  house  this  morning  and  found  it 
empty,  I  thought  the  fire  had  been  further  north,  and 
pretty  soon  I  saw  a  horse's  hoof -prints  and  I  followed 
those  till  they  brought  me  here." 

If  his  story  was  true,  he  had  followed  Zim  back  to  me, 
had  been  right  behind  whoever  rode  the  horse.  He  had 
no  sense  of  location,  could  read  nothing  from  an  animal's 
track.  That  he  had  ever  found  me  was  marvelous — 
the  one  chance  in  a  hundred.  I  might  have  been  any 
where  in  a  stretch  of  hundreds  of  square  miles  of  hard 
country.  To  come  was  preposterous  enough;  but  to 
start  without  supplies,  weapon,  frying-pan  or  tin  cup — 
without  even  a  blanket — was  too  crazy  for  any  but  a  city 
boy  to  think ! 

Still  telling  details  of  his  story,  Lem  fell  asleep  as  he 
sat,  nor  did  he  wake  as  I  lifted  him  gently,  laid  him  in 
my  bunk,  pulled  the  blankets  about  him.  I  un 
rolled  the  cougar  skin,  fairly  dried,  spread  it  before  the 
fire  which  I  built  into  a  hot  blaze,  and  knew  that  I  could 

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Black  Boulder  Claim 

keep  warm  enough  on  this  couch.  Before  I  could  sleep, 
there  was  another  thing  to  do.  Taking  a  pine  knot  for 
a  torch,  I  crossed  the  creek  to  where  I'd  seen  a  group  of 
firs,  cut  open  balsam  blisters  in  the  bark,  drained  them 
into  the  tin  cup,  and  returned  with  a  quantity  of  the 
crystal  fluid.  I  lifted  the  blanket  from  Lem's  poor, 
torn  feet,  and  rubbed  them  with  the  soothing,  healing 
salve  that  Nature  places  in  her  wildest  places  to  cure  the 
wounds  made  by  her  roughness.  He  was  too  tired  to 
know  or  heed. 


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CHAPTER  XI 

SOLVING  THE  FOOD  PROBLEM 

"  T  F  you'll  tell  me  where  things  are,  Ted,  I'll  get 

breakfast,"  Lem  said  to  me  next  morning,  as  I 

came  up  from  the  stream.     "  I  looked,  but  I 

couldn't  find  any  oatmeal,  or  ham  'n'  eggs,  or  such. 

Where  do  you  keep  the  food?  " 

I  placed  my  willow  rod  against  the  rock,  smiling 
rather  weakly.  I'd  been  out  since  daylight,  and  though 
I'd  whipped  a  dozen  likely  pools,  and  changed  bait  for 
hoppers,  grubs,  worms  and  even  artificial  flies,  not  a 
single  trout.  The  fish  must  have  sought  the  warmer 

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Black  Boulder  Claim 

waters  of  the  lake,  for  they  were  certainly  not  in  the 
creek. 

"  I'll  get  breakfast,  Lem,"  I  answered.  "  Bacon  and 
flapjacks  again.  You'll  have  just  time  for  a  plunge  in 
the  lake." 

"What!  Plunge!  Lake!"  Lem's  eyes  stared  big 
at  the  blue  waters.  "  That  lake's  ice ! " 

"  How  do  you  know?  "  I  asked  quickly.  "  Have  you 
tried  it?" 

"  I've  eyes  in  my  head.  Up  there,"  he  pointed,  "  is 
snow.  Here's  a  lot  more  of  it  melted.  No  iceberg 
swims  for  mine." 

I  laughed.  "  Well,  you'll  not  freeze  with  a  little  of 
it  on  your  hands  and  face,"  I  conceded,  and  turned  to 
the  fire,  while  Lem,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  went 
down  to  the  stream,  returning  in  a  minute  wiping  his 
hands  on  the  front  of  his  shirt.  I  tossed  him  the  towel. 

"  I  never  knew  folks  washed  camping  out,"  he  pro 
tested,  shivering  before  the  blaze.  "A  cup  of  hot  coffee 
will  save  my  life." 

While  we  were  having  our  coffee — I  had  emptied  the 
baking-powder  into  a  piece  of  paper  to  make  a  second 
cup  of  the  can — I  was  doing  some  hard  thinking,  and 
food  was  the  subject  of  my  reflections.  More  than  half 
the  bacon,  two-thirds  of  the  sack  of  flour,  most  of  the 
rice,  a  large  part  of  the  coffee  gone,  and  this  expedition 
barely  launched.  Hereafter  we  were  going  to  eat  twice 
as  much,  being  two;  and  those  cheery  dreams  of  quail, 

122 


Solving  the  Food  Problem 

grouse,  squirrel  and  rabbit  additions  to  the  larder  hadn't 
begun  to  materialize.  As  for  fish,  I'd  had  a  heart 
breaking  setback  this  very  morning. 

Lem  broke  in  on  my  thoughts,  speaking  from  a  full 
mouth  that  had  just  semieircled  a  large  piece  of  flap 
jack;  but  his  face  was  sober  enough  as  he  said: 

"  Look  here,  Ted;  I'm  a  bone-head  to  dump  myself 
here  on  you  without  bringing  eats  or  a  blanket.  You 
slept  cold  last  night,  putting  me  up  as  the  star  boarder ; 
and  I  know  grub's  low  in  the  refrigerator  and  pantry." 

"  Don't  worry "  I  began,  but  he  hadn't  finished. 

With  a  wave  of  the  knife,  he  stopped  me. 

"  I  never  thought  of  that  before  I  started;  didn't  know 
what  it  meant  here  in  the  wilderness.  I'd  saved  eight 
dollars  and  four  bits  from  tips  I  picked  up,  and  I  sup 
pose  I  had  the  idea — if  I  had  an  idea  at  all — that  I  could 
run  out  to  the  meat  market  and  grocery  and  buy  food. 
I'm  a  fool — and  a  bum.  What  do  you  want  me  to  do, 
Ted? " 

"  Two  in  a  bed'll  be  warmer  than  one,  Lem,"  I  said 
thoughtfully,  "  and  it  won't  take  half  an  hour  to  widen 
it.  We'll  use  the  fur  under  us,  and  the  blankets  for 
coverings.  We'll " 

He  stretched  his  arm  across  the  table  to  grasp  my 
hand,  and  his  grin  was  a  bit  twisted  as  he  cried: 

"  Then  I  do  stay?  That's  the  best  word  I've  heard  in 
months.  I'll  work  like  a — why,  I'll  even  take  that  morn 
ing  swim,  Ted! " 

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Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  We'll  get  at  the  food  question  first,"  I  said,  pump 
ing  his  arm  as  I  laughed  at  his  enthusiasm.  "  We  have 
to  eat  every  day,  and  three  times  are  few  enough.  I 
hardly  suppose  you  could  find  your  way  to  town? " 

He  sank  back  on  his  chunk  of  wood  with  a  groan. 

"  Christmas  Eve!  I'll  go  without  food,  but  don't 
send  me  back  to  Jamesville !  " 

"  Jamesville?  I  wasn't  thinking  of  Jamesville. 
Susan ville  is  as  near  and  bigger."  He  brightened  at 
once.  "  But  you'd  never  find  it  in  a  thousand  years, 
Lem." 

"  Couldn't  I  stay  here  while  you  went?  " 

"  I  can't  go."  I  didn't  tell  him,  didn't  want  to  tell 
him,  that  I  was  tied  to  a  gold  mine  that  might  be 
"  jumped  "  any  day.  "  No,  Lem,  we've  got  to  dig  our 
food  out  of  the  country  here,  and  we'll  start  at  it  now." 

"  Fine!  "  He  jumped  to  his  feet.  "  Let's  have  fish 
for  lunch." 

"  I'd  say  so,  only  the  trout  don't  bite." 

"  I'll  show  you  how,"  Lem  cried  unexpectedly.  "  Got 
plenty  of  line?" 

"A  hundred  yards  of  it.     What's  the  idea?  " 

"  Listen,  Ted.  When  I  was  a  newsie  in  San  Fran 
cisco — just  a  tad — three-four  years  ago — I  started  up 
housekeeping;  built  me  a  res'dence  on  North  Beach — 
foot  of  Taylor  Street,  close  to  Fisherman's  Wharf. 
That  house  was  on  a  lot  where  a  warehouse  had  burned 
down,  and  its  front  wall  was  the  fence,  its  door  was  a 

124 


Solving  the  Food  Problem 

board  that  I'd  pull  out  to  get  in;  and  all  its  other  sides 
and  the  roof  were  old  corrugated  iron  that  had  been  on 
the  warehouse.  I  had  a  stove  inside — just  another  bit 
of  corrugated  iron,  bent  into  shape,  with  a  few  lengths 
of  rusty  stovepipe,  but  it  was  a  dandy  cooker! " 

He  was  working  with  the  fish-line  I'd  brought  him, 
putting  short  leaders  at  intervals  of  about  two  feet  along 
it,  tying  hooks  to  the  leaders.  I  watched  him  with  in 
terest  as  he  went  on  talking. 

"  I  lived  there  a  long  while  before  the  bull  on  that 
beat  got  wise  and  kicked  me  out;  and  I  lived  high! 
Fish?  I  ate  every  kind  and  variety  of  fish  that  the 
Pacific  Ocean  knows!  Gee,  Ted!  I  ate  squid  and 
shark — sea  serpents,  likely.  Those  Italian  fisher 
men — hundreds  of  boats,  pink  and  blue  and  white,  with 
lateen  sails  or  chuffy  little  gas  engines — brought  in  tons 
and  tons  of  fish  every  morning,  and  all  I  had  to  do  was 
to  look  wistful  while  they  were  unloading.  They'd  give 
me  odd  ones  for  a  joke,  but  some  of  the  strangest  look 
ing  fish  were  the  best  eating.  What  I'm  making  here  is 
a  trawl,  and  we'll  set  it  in  the  lake  across  the  creek's 
mouth.  It's  one  way  the  Italians  fish,  only  they'll  have 
maybe  a  mile  of  trawl-line  with  thousands  of  hooks." 

"  How  do  they  ever  pull  it  in? "  I  asked. 

'They 'don't.  The  ends  are  anchored  by  Heavy 
weights,  and  buoyed  to  bring  the  line  up  the  right  dis 
tance  from  the  surface,  and  to  mark  it,  so  they'll  know 
where  it  is.  There  are  other  buoys  along  it,  holding  it 

125 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

up.  The  fishermen  go  to  one  of  the  end  buoys  in  their 
boat  and  move  along  the  line  to  its  other  end,  lifting  it 
up,  taking  the  fish  off,  and  rebaiting.  One  man  takes 
off  the  fish,  another  baits.  Maybe  that  boat'll  handle 
twenty  trawls." 

"  And  you're  going  to  trawl  in  the  lake — without  a 
boat?" 

Lem  laughed.  "  We'll  have  to  haul  in  our  line.  It 
won't  be  so  heavy  with  fish  but  we  can.  I  want  a  rock 
about  as  big  as  my  fist  for  an  anchor;  a  rough  one,  so 
the  line  won't  slip  off.  The  other  end  we'll  tie  to  a  rock 
on  shore." 

I  found  him  one,  then  took  the  axe  and  went  after 
bait ;  white  grubs  from  rotting  pine  logs ;  and  we  had  the 
trawl  set  in  short  order.  Lem  wasn't  going  to  be  such  a 
drag  on  my  resources,  not  if  he  could  think  up  food- 
getting  schemes  like  this;  and  his  trawl-line  had  given 
me  an  idea.  If  fish  could  be  trapped,  why  not  game  as 
well?  Every  day  I  had  seen  coveys  of  quail,  scared  up 
bunnies,  been  scolded  by  tree  squirrels.  I  couldn't  hit 
them  with  the  pistol,  dared  not  waste  rifle  cartridges  on 
them,  but  I  could  make  traps.  As  we  hitched  the  end 
of  the  trawl  to  a  jag  in  the  sentinel  rock,  after  Lem  had 
sent  the  rock  whizzing  to  carry  the  line  far  out  across 
the  creek's  mouth  in  a  wonderful  throw,  I  suggested: 

"  Did  you  ever  trap  quail,  Lem — or  rabbits?  " 

He  grinned.  "  Not  in  San  Francisco.  They  only 
grow  in  the  markets  there,  and  you  trap  'em  with  silver 

126 


Solving  the  Food  Problem 

bait — gold,  more  likely.     No.     I  never  had  the  bait, 
Ted." 

"  Then  I'll  show  you,"  I  said.  "  Come  on,"  and  get 
ting  the  axe,  I  led  the  way  to  a  thicket  beyond  my  dam 
where  I  knew  there  were  usually  quail.  It  was  a  dense 
chaparral  of  manzanita,  mesquite  and  gooseberry  bushes. 
From  its  center  I  cut  a  six-foot  circle  clear  to  the  ground, 
using  the  brush  of  the  clearing  to  build  a  tight  cage  that 
rimmed  it,  supplementing  the  manzanita  with  willow 
wands  Lem  brought  from  the  creekside.  Woven  in 
with  the  long,  tough  vines  of  the  morning-glory,  the 
upper  end  brought  together,  it  made  a  dome  like  a  bird 
cage,  or  an  Eskimo  hut,  tight  and  strong  enough  to 
hold  any  small  bird  or  animal.  At  one  side,  so  close  to 
the  ground  it  was  nearly  level  with  it,  we  left  an  open 
ing,  and  by  sticking  brush  in  the  earth,  built  a  funnel- 
shaped  lane  from  the  opening,  the  large  mouth  of  the 
funnel  at  the  edge  of  the  chaparral.  The  idea  was  to 
throw  bait  in  the  lane  and  cage,  let  the  quail  follow  it 
up,  pecking  away,  until  they  entered  the  narrow 
entrance. 

"  But  what's  to  prevent  them  walking  out  the  same 
way?  "  Lem  asked,  when  I  told  him  it  was  finished. 

"Nothing  in  the  world,  Lem;  only  they  won't. 
They'll  hunt  for  a  hole  in  the  roof  and  all  about  the 
sides,  but  not  at  the  bottom.  It's  their  way — the  way 
of  all  birds — to  look  up,  not  down.  Hunt  me  an  armful 
of  lettuce,  and  we'll  set  the  trap." 

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Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  Where's  the  garden?  "  asked  Lem,  innocently. 

"  Garden?     I  mean  miners'  lettuce." 

"  You'll  have  to  show  me,  Ted;  I  never  saw  any  to 
know  it,"  and  I  laughingly  led  him  out  to  where  it  grew 
rank  on  the  flat.  Already  it  had  seeded,  and  I  knew  the 
quail  were  partial  to  it.  Each  with  an  armful  of  the 
grasslike  plant,  we  went  back  to  throw  it,  seeds  and  all, 
in  the  cage  and  approach. 

"  Now  for  the  cottontails,"  I  said,  starting  off  for  the 
bigger  growth  that  lined  the  creek,  axe  over  shoulder. 
"  Twitch-ups  for  bunnies." 

Lem's  face  looked  as  though  my  language  was  Greek 
to  him,  but  he  asked  no  questions,  and  after  watching 
me  make  the  first  rabbit-spring,  he  went  to  work  and 
we  had  six  done  by  noon.  The  twitch-up  is  the  simplest 
of  traps.  A  small  tree  or  the  branch  of  a  larger  one  is 
bent  down  and  held  bent  by  a  cord  tied  to  a  spindle 
which  fits  in  a  trigger — the  old  "  figure  four  "  con 
trivance.  When  the  baited  trigger  is  touched,  the 
spindle  is  released,  the  sapling  leaps  to  straighten  its 
curve,  and  a  second  twine  pulls  taut  a  slip-noose  about 
the  neck  of  Sir.  Cottontail,  lifting  him  high  in  air  with 
a  snap!  The  proper  approach  for  the  animal  is  made 
by  a  little  twig  enclosure,  across  the  opening  of  which 
hangs  the  noose. 

"  Well,  Lem,"  I  said,  after  testing  the  ones  he'd  made, 
and  setting  them  with  Indian  turnip  for  bait,  "  I'll  say 
that's  a  rattling  good  morning's  work!  I've  been  here 

128 


Solving  the  Food  Problem 

a  week,  and  this  is  the  first  real  start  at  the  food  problem 
I've  made.  Thanks  to  you,"  I  bowed  to  him  gravely, 
"  we  have  crossed  the  Rubicon." 

"  I've  never  met  the  Rubicon,  but  if  it's  good  to  eat, 
lead  me  to  it !  I'm  starved,"  and  we  started  back  for  the 
shack  and  the  last  dinner,  I  felt  certain,  that  would  de 
pend  on  bacon  and  flapjacks.  Hardly  had  we  gone  a 
dozen  steps  before  I  found  an  article  of  food  that  re 
lieved  us  of  salt  meat  for  that  noon  meal  at  least.  As 
we  passed  a  large  live-oak,  I  saw  growing  from  a  cavity 
in  its  trunk  a  bunch  of  blood  red  fungi.  With  a  shout 
of  joy,  I  ran  to  the  tree  and  began  breaking  it  off. 

"What  in  time  you  got  there?"  Lem  demanded, 
watching  me  pry  loose  the  crimson  growth.  And  I  an 
swered,  mouth  watering: 

"  Wait  till  you  taste  it.  Yum,  yum,  yum !  This  is 
the  best  luck  ever!  " 

"  Looks  more  like  a  Fourth  of  July  celebration  than 
food,  but  if  you  say  it  is,  here's  more.  I'll  bring  a  ton 
or  two." 

"  Don't,  Lem,"  I  cried.  "  I've  all  that  we  can  eat, 
and  more  would  spoil  on  us.  Leave  it  on  the  tree  for 
next  time.  It's  the  beefsteak  fungus." 

"  Looks  a  bit  rare,  doesn't  it?    A  trifle  underdone?  " 

"  Wait  till  you  taste  it,"  I  repeated.  "  I'll  fry  this 
for  dinner,  but  it's  a  corking  stew,  and  good  plain 
boiled." 

"  Sure  it  isn't  poison? "  Lem  asked  a  trifle  anxiously. 

129 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  I  am.  It's  perfectly  good — good  as  any  toadstool 
you  can  find." 

"  Toadstool?  You  mean  mushroom.  Toadstools  are 
poison."  Lem  spoke  the  generally  accepted  idea  of  the 
relative  qualities  of  the  two  varieties  of  fungi,  with  the 
same  decision  that  nine  people  out  of  ten  always  do. 
But  I  knew  toadstools  that  I  could  eat  and  enjoy  as 
well  as  the  finest  mushroom,  and  I  had  none  of  the  fear 
of  poisoning  that  robs  the  pleasure  of  eating  for  most 
people.  I  knew  a  few  varieties  that  were  safe  food,  and 
knew  them  well;  all  other  kinds  I  left  strictly  alone. 
From  my  father  I  had  learned  that  there  was  no  test  for 
the  edibility  of  mushroom  or  toadstool;  that  the  silver 
spoon  or  coin  that  discolors  if  the  cooking  dish  holds 
poisonous  contents  is  no  more  than  a  superstition,  and 
that  the  test  by  peeling  the  skin  from  the  cap  is  not  much 
better.  I  never  tested  fungi;  if  I  wasn't  familiar  with 
it,  not  for  me ;  I  passed  it  by.  So,  as  we  walked  up  to 
the  shack,  I  reassured  Lem,  who  shortly  was  sniffing  de 
lightedly  at  the  odor  from  the  frying-pan. 

'  This  afternoon  we  must  bake  bread,"  I  said  while  we 
were  hungrily  putting  the  beefsteak — which  earns  its 
name  by  its  taste — into  busy  mouths.  "  I've  never  had 
a  chance  to  try  out  the  oven." 

Lem  paused  in  his  labors  long  enough  to  look  at  my 
fireplace  with  wide  eyes.  Then  he  turned  them  on  me, 
with: 

;<  Where's  the  oven?     Or  are  you  joshing?  " 

130 


Solving  the  Food  Problem 

"  Under  the  stones  there,"  I  pointed.  "  I  wish  we 
had  something  else  to  roast  while  the  bread's  in." 

"  There  may  be  a  fish  on  that  line.  Let's  haul  her  in 
after  dinner  and  take  a  look?  " 

"  Suits  me.  But  all  the  fish  I've  caught  are  frying- 
pan  size.  I  don't  know  what's  out  there  in  the  lake." 

We  found  out  three  things  that  were  in  the  lake  when 
we  brought  in  the  trawl — three  Dolly  Varden  trout,  the 
smallest  of  which  weighed  four  pounds  or  better,  the 
biggest  being  large  enough  to  crowd  the  oven  for  length. 
I'd  never  seen  lake  trout  before,  and  these  whoppers 
made  me  shout  for  joy!  Lem,  who  was  used  to  seafish, 
didn't  get  so  excited,  although  shining  eyes  told  me  how 
pleased  he  was  with  this  initial  success  of  his  suggestion. 
All  three  fish  were  dead  when  we  hauled  them  out,  had 
drowned  themselves  in  the  struggle  to  get  free. 

"  We'll  bake  the  two  biggest,"  I  said,  as  we  toted  them 
back  to  camp.  '  The  small  boy  we'll  fry  for  supper 
to-night." 

"  You  got  plenty  of  salt,  Ted?  "  asked  Lem. 

"  Most  of  a  big  sack  left.     Why?  " 

"  Let  me  show  you  how  to  put  down  fish  for  future 
eating — the  way  the  Italian  fishermen  showed  me,"  he 
said.  "  If  we  bake  those  two  big  ones,  half  of  'em  will 
be  thrown  away,  spoiled.  Bake  the  middle-sized  one, 
and  lay  these  others  away  for  a  rainy  day." 

"  Good,  Lem!  That's  the  idea,"  and  I  dug  a  small 
pit  in  the  ground  at  his  command,  while  he  drew  the  fish 

131 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

and  placed  a  handful  of  salt  in  the  cavity.  Scales,  head, 
tail  and  fins  were  left  on;  and  he  placed  them  in  the  hole 
I'd  made  and  told  me  to  fill  it  with  dirt.  I  wanted  to 
wrap  the  fish  in  green  leaves  or  something,  but  he 
thought  that  might  start  them  wrong.  "  Just  salt  and 
dirt,"  he  insisted. 

We  added  one  other  important  food  product  to  our 
supply:  pine  nuts.  That  night,  supper  over,  stomachs 
full  of  perfectly  roasted  trout  stuffed  with  mushrooms, 
biscuits  that  were  only  slightly  burned  on  the  top,  when 
I  considered  the  results  of  the  day's  work,  I  could  hardly 
believe  that  at  morning  I  had  dreaded  a  famine. 


132 


CHAPTER  XII 

"  JUMPED !" 

HEN  I  was  housekeeping  in  my  tin  res'- 
dence  on  North  Beach,"  Lem  remarked 
that  night  before  sleep,  a  reminiscent  qual 
ity  to  tHe  tone  of  his  voice,  "  I  started  a  garden,  and 
if  the  cop  on  the  beat  hadn't  happened  to  lean  up 
against  that  fence  just  at  the  place  where  a  loose 
board  would  spring  out  to  crack  him  in  the  calves, 
I'd  'a'  had  some  garden !  Potatoes — I'd  planted  the  par 
ings — two  onions  that  were  started  rotting,  and  a  whole 
package  of  peas  that  I  bought  in  a  store.  I  found  out 

133 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

afterward  that  they  were  sweet  peas,  and  not  vegetables 
at  all,  but  as  it  turned  out,  that  didn't  matter. 

"  Over  across  the  street  where  there  was  a  factory 
with  a  hydrant  out  in  front,  I'd  get  water  to  wet  my 
plants,  and  they  came  up  fine.  Every  night  I'd  give 
them  a  five-gallon  tin  of  water,  and  hoe  them  with  a 
piece  of  iron  which  I  nailed  on  a  lath.  When  I  was 
caught,  that  garden  was  up  and  thriving,  and  the  peas 
were  almost  ready  to  blossom." 

"  What  were  you  caught  for,  Lem? "  I  broke  in. 

"  I  don't  know.  Incorrigible  delinkacy,  they  said. 
That's  why  the  judge  sent  me  to  old  Wayne." 

"  For  making  a  garden?  "  I  asked  blankly. 

'  That  and  building  the  house;  for  living,  too.  And 
I  didn't  go  to  school.  And  for  stealing  water  from  the 
hydrant." 

That  last  would  be  the  crime;  I  could  understand  that, 
for  the  flumes  at  the  mines,  and  irrigation  ditches  on  the 
ranches  are  protected.  Water  is  wealth  at  times,  and 
in  the  big  cities,  which  I  knew  as  well  as  Lem  knew  the 
mountains,  it  would  have  unusual  value.  Although  five 
gallons  a  day — or  night,  rather — wasn't  much  for  a 
ditch  or  flume,  it  might  be  serious  to  a  city  fac 
tory.  But  Lem  was  continuing  his  garden  reflec 
tions. 

"  I'd  like  to  try  it  again.  I  was  mighty  fond  of  that 
farm  of  mine.  Do  you  suppose,  Ted,  that  I  could  have 
a  farm  here?" 


"Jumped!" 

"A  garden?  We  haven't  any  seeds,  Lem."  It 
started  me  thinking,  though. 

"  No  potato  parings?     No  onions?  " 

I  smiled  in  the  darkness.  "  Your  one  onion  bulb 
would  have  grown  no  additional  onions,  if  it  grew  at  all, 
Lem.  And  we  haven't  either  onions  or  potatoes  any 
how.  Beans  we  can  plant,  but  they're  slow.  What 
you  need  are  seeds  from  the  store,  radishes,  lettuce,  peas, 
turnips,  carrots,  and  all  the  garden  truck.  You  could 
spade  up  a  piece  on  the  flat  below  my  ditch  and  irrigate 
from  it,  and  there's  no  doubt  you'd  have  a  good  crop,  for 
the  soil  is  rich  in  the  bottom, — wherever  there  is  soil  at 
all.  Somehow,  you  must  get  to  Susanville  on  Zim." 

"  I'll  go;  and  I'll  get  there,"  he  cried  eagerly.  "  I've 
money,  and,  Ted,  we'll  have  a  farm!  "  And  most  prob 
ably  he  dreamt  of  gardens  all  the  night,  for  after  we'd 
visited  the  traps  next  morning,  without  finding  them 
disturbed,  and  had  pulled  in  two  more  lake  trout  on  the 
trawl,  he  wanted  me  to  show  him  the  place  for  his 
"  farm." 

I  hadn't  told  Lem  that  I'd  found  gold  in  the  creek. 
Though  my  suspicion  of  him  had  gone  from  my  mind — 
rather,  had  been  put  away  in  a  dark  back  corner  of  my 
mind — caution  had  kept  me  from  either  speaking  of  the 
discovery  or  showing  him  the  work  I  was  doing  there. 
Whenever  we  had  occasion  to  pass  the  dam,  I  led  a  wide 
detour  and  Lem  had  not  been  in  sight  of  it  before. 
Now  I  took  him  there,  wondering  if  I  were  wise  in  do- 
US 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

ing  so,  and  anxiously  waited  his  comment  as  he  looked 
over  the  work. 

"  What's  the  big  idea?  "  he  said  finally,  when  his  eye 
had  taken  in  dam,  ditch  and  diggings.  "  Didn't  you 
like  the  way  the  creek  went? " 

"  I'm  changing  it  a  bit,"  I  accepted  his  suggestion. 

"  Bringing  it  around  to  the  house  for  private  baths 
and  running  water  in  every  room? "  he  continued. 
"  Turn  the  faucet  and  get  a  shower." 

"  So  you  needn't  bathe  again  in  the  lake,"  I  laughed. 
"  There'd  be  the  place  for  your  garden,  Lem,"  and 
pointed  below  to  a  plot  of  perhaps  half  an  acre  of  thick- 
tangled  bushes  and  vines. 

He  whistled.  "  In  that  mess  of  brush,  Ted?  Why 
not  one  of  the  grassy  places  around  it? " 

"  The  brush — most  of  it's  wild  roses,  by  the  way — 
proves  that  there's  good  soil  underneath,  deep  enough 
for  things  to  get  roots  down,  and  it  is  flat  enough  so  you 
can  irrigate.  It  will  clear  easier  than  it  looks.  I  be 
lieve  it's  the  best  piece  under  the  ditch." 

Lem  wanted  to  start  at  once  on  the  clearing,  but  I 
had  to  disappoint  him.  I  had  planned  to  get  out  boards 
for  sluices,  and  that  would  necessitate  using  the  only 
axe — also  Lem.  I  haltingly  suggested  it. 

"  I  have  to  build  a  long  box  to  carry  the  water,  and  I 
wanted  to  split  planks  from  redwood  to-day.  Maybe 
we  could  start  that  clearing  to-morrow." 

"  Sure,"  Lem  said  cheerfully.  "  Get  the  water  fixed 

136 


"Jumped!" 

right  first.  Won't  it  be  swell  not  to  have  to  carry  it  in 
a  can? " 

I  felt  mean  and  small  holding  back  the  wonderful 
news  of  my  gold  find,  and  he  so  willing  to  do  anything 
I  asked;  but  I  was  bred  to  caution  by  the  hills,  where 
one  tells  little  of  his  affairs  until  he  fully  trusts — then 
tells,  perhaps,  too  much.  Several  times  I  had  caught 
myself  on  the  point  of  spilling  everything  to  Lem,  and 
always  had  been  stopped  by  the  remembrance  of  Zim, 
the  saddle,  and  Lem  getting  here  the  same  day.  So  we 
went  up  into  the  forest  where  I  felled  one  of  the  smaller 
of  the  redwoods,  taking  out  a  log  about  two  feet  in 
diameter  and  fifteen  feet  long,  without  a  limb  or  knot 
on  it,  and  a  grain  as  straight  as  a  chalk-line.  With  the 
axe  and  wedges  I  made  of  oak,  I  first  quartered  this 
log,  then  split  planks  from  one  section.  It  took  Lem 
and  me  all  day  to  get  out  two,  and  it  was  hard  work.  I 
needed  six  boards,  sides  and  bottoms  for  thirty  feet  of 
sluices,  and  I  felt  sure  another  day  would  finish  it.  As 
we  walked  home,  I  explained  to  Lem. 

"  Well,  there's  no  hurry-ups  about  the  garden,"  he 
agreed  cheerfully.  "  We  haven't  any  seed  to  put  in,  if 
it  was  cleared.  When'll  I  start  for  Susanville,  Ted? " 

"  Soon,"  I  promised  vaguely.  "  We'll  go  back  to 
the  redwoods  as  soon  as  we've  looted  at  the  traps  in  the 
morning." 

At  noon,  when  we'd  been  at  the  sHack  for  a  pick-up 
lunch,  Lem  had  asked  to  be  allowed  free  hand  at  getting 

137 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

supper,  and  I'd  agreed,  smiling  a  bit  and  wondering 
what  he  could  concoct  from  the  limited  supplies.  I  gave 
no  attention  as  he  puttered  about  the  fireplace  during 
the  nooning.  Now,  as  we  came  close  to  the  lean-to,  he 
said: 

"  I've  sort  of  planned  a  surprise  for  supper,  Ted. 
Keep  your  eyes  off  things  till  I  call  you,  will  you?  " 

"  Sure.  I'm  going  to  climb  up  Sentinel  Rock, 
and  take  a  look-see,"  I  replied.  "  How  long  will  it 
be?" 

"  Half  an  hour,  I  guess.  I'll  yell  when  it's  ready," 
and  he  ran  ahead  to  the  shack  while  I  went  on  to  mount 
my  observation  post. 

Every  day,  once  a  day  at  least,  I  had  been  up  to  the 
summit  here,  and  looked  anxiously  down  the  lake  at 
the  little  grove,  searching  for  smoke.  As  on  these  for 
mer  occasions,  to-night  discovered  no  sign  of  a  fire  in 
the  log  cabin,  and  my  eyes  came  away  to  travel  the  cir 
cuit  of  lake  and  land.  It  was  a  beautiful  evening.  As 
May  crept  closer  to  the  edge  of  summer,  the  days 
seemed  to  hate  leaving  the  world,  and  each  hung  on  a 
little  longer  for  a  later  twilight.  The  sky  was  the  blue 
of  the  wood  violets,  shot  with  golden  bars  of  sunset ;  the 
lake  was  the  sky's  mirrored  image;  and  the  hills  held 
all  the  tints  and  colors  of  the  world. 

Always  there  was  peace  for  me  in  the  magnificence 
of  beauty  of  the  mountains.  Now  I  lay  back  in  a  hollow 
of  the  sun-warmed  rock  and  feasted  on  its  wonders,  till 

138 


"Jumped!" 

my  eyes  came  to  rest  on  a  moving  speck  against  the  still 
hill,  miles  away,  across  the  lake.  Another  and  yet  an 
other  of  those  tiny  points,  coming  from  a  defile  to  move 
downward  toward  the  water.  Bears,  I  thought;  then 
changed  decision  to  deer,  a  buck  and  two  does,  prob 
ably,  on  their  way  to  the  evening  drink.  Lem  hallooed, 
and  I  brought  my  eyes  from  the  distant  specks,  to  find 
foothold  for  the  clamber  down. 

Supper — Lem  dignified  it  with  the  name  of  dinner — 
started  with  a  thick  soup  of  beans,  served  in  the  tin  cup 
and  can,  and  it  was  fine!  Thinking  this  was  the  sur 
prise  he  had  promised,  I  ate  more  than  I  should,  for  it 
was  one  of  the  changes  in  diet  I  had  not  thought  to  pre 
pare.  In  fact,  my  principal  kitchen  utensil  was  the 
frying-pan,  which  someone  has  called  "  the  advance 
guard  of  civilization."  Lem  taught  me,  then  and  after 
ward,  its  proper  minor  place  in  camp  cooking. 

After  we  had  finished  the  soup,  Lem  brought  on  in 
the  miner's  pan  a  concoction  of  fish,  rice,  nuts  chopped 
fine,  and  brown  gravy  over  all,  that  seemed  the  best  food 
I  had  ever  eaten.  It  didn't  have  more  than  a  hint  of 
the  too  familiar  taste  of  fish,  nor  of  anything  I'd  ever 
eaten.  At  the  first  mouthful,  I  turned  a  happy  face  to 
cry  to  him : 

'  Why,  this  is  grand,  Lem!    What  is  it? 

"  Chopini,"  he  grinned.  "  The  Italian  fishermen 
taught  me,  when  I  was  keeping  house  there  by  the  docks. 
Only,  they  use  corn-meal — polenta,  they  call  it — and 

139 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

have  clams,  mussels,  and  other  sea  things.    Like  it,  do 
you? " 

"  Best  ever!    And  the  bread  is  fine." 
"  Want  to  turn  the  cooking  over  to  me?  " 
"  Do  I?    Lem,  if  you'll  take  over  that  job,  I'll  wash 
all  the  dishes  and  make  the  bed  and  everything."    And 
that  was  the  arrangement  we  made,  much  to  the  benefit 
of  our  meals,  as  well  as  the  safeguarding  of  our  digestive 
apparatus. 

We  went  armed  next  morning  on  the  trip  to  the  trap. 
If  there  were  deer  around  that  lake,  it  was  wisdom  to 
have  a  weapon  close  at  hand.  It  was  out  of  season,  but 
there  is  an  unwritten  law — miners'  law,  it  is  called — 
that  permits  a  prospector  to  shoot  for  his  own  eating, 
not  to  sell  or  even  give  away,  during  the  closed  months. 
It  was  the  same  about  trapping  quail,  or,  I  believe, 
catching  trout  on  a  set-line;  the  law  on  the  statute  books, 
and  the  law  as  practised  in  the  courts  of  a  mining  county, 
were  very  different.  Nobody  would  think  of  charging 
any  wrong  in  this  method  of  preserving  life  in  the  wil 
derness,  any  more  than  I  should  consider  for  a  minute 
shooting  even  a  dove  out  of  season  if  I  were  down  in 
the  valley. 

A  twittering  in  the  heart  of  the  thicket  where  our 
cage-trap  was  set,  started  a  twittering  in  the  hearts  of 
Lem  and  me  as  we  came  to  the  opening  we  had  made, 
and  we  approached  cautiously  to  look  through  the  withes 
to  find  four  birds,  a  cock  and  three  hens,  running  around 

140 


"Jumped!" 

inside,  poking  their  heads  between  the  twigs,  and  never 
once  thinking  to  look  down  at  their  feet  where  escape 
lay.  Lem  looked  big-eyed  at  the  gray  cock,  with  its 
black  hood,  white-banded,  and  long  feather  crest,  the 
hens,  brownish  of  body,  shorter  plumed;  all  four  birds 
round  and  fat  as  butter-balls;  whistled,  and  said: 

"  Now  we've  caught  'em,  how  we  going  to  catch  'em, 
Ted?  "  And  it  was  a  fair  question.  There  was  but  the 
one  opening  to  the  cage,  and  it  was  not  nearly  big 
enough  to  admit  either  of  us.  I  lay  on  the  ground  and 
reached  an  arm  through,  but  the  quail  kept  out  of  my 
reach,  and  when  Lem  tried  to  scare  them  toward  me, 
they  ran  and  flew  every  place  else  inside  the  enclosure. 
It  seemed  finally  that  I'd  have  to  use  the  revolver,  which 
would  be  a  pity,  as  it  might  blow  a  bird  nearly  to  pieces 
at  so  short  a  range,  besides  it  would  waste  four  precious 
rounds  of  ammunition. 

"  Let  me  try,"  said  Lem,  and  when  I'd  given  him  my 
place  in  the  narrow  approach,  he  got  a  shoulder  through 
the  entrance,  and  I  saw  he  had  in  his  hand  a  piece  of  fish- 
line  with  a  noose  at  the  end.  "  Now  keep  quiet,  and  let 
them  settle  down,"  he  instructed,  and  a  moment  later, 
the  loop  was  cleverly  tossed,  a  hen  dove  into  his  hand, 
assisted  by  a  jerk  of  the  cord,  and  Lem  passed  a  bird 
back  to  me,  with,  "  You  do  the  killing,  Ted.  I  can't." 

One  by  one  he  lassooed  them  all,  while  I  wrung  their 
necks  and  drew  them,  and  then  we  went  over  the  line  of 
twitch-ups.  One  had  been  sprung,  but  there  was  noth- 

141 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

ing  dangling  in  the  noose.  I  guessed  some  animal  had 
managed  to  touch  the  trigger  from  behind,  or  reached 
with  a  long  paw  across  the  enclosure,  for  the  bait  was 
gone,  and  a  rabbit  couldn't  have  taken  it  without  being 
caught.  There  were  so  many  cottontails  in  the  gully 
not  interested  at  all,  seemingly,  in  our  traps  that  I  de 
cided  to  change  the  lure.  As  they  didn't  care  for  Indian 
turnip,  I  offered  a  kind  of  mushroom  that  I'd  seen  them 
nibbling  greedily,  now  and  then. 

That  day  we  finished  splitting  out  the  planks  and  by 
noon  of  the  next,  we  had  them  hauled  and  piled  beside 
the  ditch,  Zim  with  the  lariat  tied  to  the  saddle  being 
the  motive  power.  And  that  was  as  far  as  I  could  go 
with  construction  till  we  had  nails,  and  nails  were  a 
part  of  the  long  list  of  things  to  be  bought  at  Susan- 
ville. 

As  day  after  day  had  gone  by  without  sign  of  anyone 
coming  to  dispute  my  right  to  the  gold-find,  without  a 
single  streamer  of  smoke  rising  from  the  deserted  cabin 
at  evening,  my  apprehensions  had  left,  just  as  the  sus 
picions  of  Lem  had  gradually  been  lulled  to  sleep.  I 
climbed  Sentinel  Rock  twice  a  day,  but  I  did  it  more 
from  habit  than  the  expectation  of  seeing  anything  to 
worry  me.  And  so  with  Lem  now,  as  he  sat  on  the  pile  of 
planks,  wiping  perspiration  from  his  brow  with  his  shirt 
sleeve,  I  had  forgotten  to  be  cautious,  as  I  said: 

"  You  can  get  away  early  to-morrow  morning,  on 
Zim.  I'll  go  down  the  lake  with  you,  and  get  you 

142 


<c 


Jumped ! 


started  right,  and  with  this  map  I've  drawn,  you 
shouldn't  lose  the  trail.  Maybe  somebody  has  been 
over  it  already  this  spring,  so  following  the  tracks  will 
make  it  certain.  The  list  of  what's  to  get  is  on  the  back 
of  the  map,"  and  I  handed  him  the  paper.  With  a 
glance  at  it,  he  cried: 

"  Seeds?  But  seeds  are  mine,  Ted.  I  buy  the  seeds." 
'  You  buy  everything  on  the  list,  Lem,"  I  said,  reach 
ing  down  in  my  trousers  hip-pocket  for  my  poke. 

"  But,  Ted "  Lem's  voice  was  troubled.  "  I 

haven't — I  haven't  money  enough — I  didn't  know " 

I  held  out  the  heavy  poke.  "  There's  five  or  six 
ounces  in  here,  more  than  you'll  need;  and  plenty  more 
where  that  came  from." 

He  took  it,  wondering,  and  loosening  the  leather 
thongs,  pulled  open  its  mouth;  and  his  mouth  opened 
wider,  as  his  eyes  saw  the  contents. 

"  Gold !    Why,  it's  gold !  "  he  cried. 

"  It  is,  Lem;  gold-dust.  Use  what  you  need,  and  if 
you  see  anything  else  you  think  we  ought  to  have,  not 
on  the  list,  you  can  get  it." 

"  But— how  do  you  use  it,  Ted? "  Again  I  had  for 
gotten  that  he  was  from  the  city,  where  they  don't  buy 
things  with  gold-dust.  "  They'll  just  take  it  away  from 


me." 


I  laugfied.  "  At  the  store — wherever  you  buy — 
there'll  be  a  balance  scales,  and  they'll  weigh  out  what 
gold  you  owe." 

143 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  But  they'll  cheat  the  eyes  out  of  me.  How'll  I 
know  what  they  take?  " 

"  Don't  worry.  They'll  be  honest  enough,  but  if  you 
want  to  check  up  on  them,  figure  an  ounce  of  gold  at 
twenty  dollars.  That's  close  enough;  each  pennyweight 
a  dollar." 

"  Sounds  like  a  drug-store,"  Lem  groaned.  "  But 
I'll  do  my  best.  And  the  seeds  for  the  garden  I  buy 
myself." 

I  looked  Lem  over.  He'd  been  nearly  a  year  saving 
up  that  eight  dollars  and  a  half,  a  nickel  and  dime  at  a 
time.  I'd  taken  out  a  hundred  dollars  from  one  little 
hole  in  the  ground  in  a  few  hours ;  and  Lem  was  insisting 
on  buying  the  seeds  for  our  garden! 

A  flush  of  shame  came  to  my  face  at  the  thought  of 
my  distrust  of  him;  the  suspicions  that  had  kept  my 
tongue  stilled  from  telling  him  the  truth.  I  turned 
away,  pointing,  as  I  said  quickly: 

"  See  that  hole  in  the  creek  bottom,  Lem?  That's 
gold;  lined  with  gold.  I  took  what  you  have  there  from 
it;  three  shovelfuls  of  the  bottom  mud.  I've,  maybe, 
thousands  and  thousands  of  dollars  of  gold  in  the  sands 
I've  uncovered.  That's  what  the  dam's  for;  the  planks 
will  make  a  sluice-box;  the  ditch  is  the  runway.  I'm 
rich,  most  probably." 

"  I'm  glad,  Ted.  Glad  for  you."  It  came  instantly, 
and  Lem  had  grabbed  my  hand  and  was  shaking  it  hard. 
"What  was  that?" 

144 


"Jumped!" 

We  both  heard  it;  both  turned  to  look.  Voiceless, 
both  of  us  stared. 

A  man  came  from  our  lean-to,  his  arms  loaded,  and 
walked  down  to  the  flat.  Again  came  the  crash  of 
things  dropped,  as  he  carelessly  flung  his  burden  to  the 
pile  on  the  ground.  Another  man  right  behind  him 
tossed  my  skillet  and  the  gold-pan  onto  the  heap. 

"  Why,  they're  taking  your  things  out  of  the  hut ! " 
Lem  whispered,  his  hand  clutching  my  arm. 

"  Yes,"  I  said  bitterly.  "  They're  jumping  my  claim 
— and  I  forgot  to  bring  the  rifle!  " 


145 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A  QUESTION  OF  EIGHTS 

THE  men  down  there  by  the  hut  had  seen  us. 
Quickly,  one  of  them  turned  and  hastened  in 
side.    The  other  waved  an  arm  to  us,  and  hal 
looed. 

"  Maybe  they're  not  after  your  claim,"  Lem  sug 
gested,  nervously.  "  Maybe  they're  after  me," 

I  had  not  thought  of  that;  it  was  possible.  "  Run  for 
the  redwoods,"  I  said.  "  Hide  there  in  a  hollow  tree. 
I'll  find  out  what  they're  up  to,  then  I'll  get  you  to 
night." 

146 


A  Question  of  Rights 

"  N-o-t,  not!  "  he  cried.  "  We  stand  together  on  this. 
Come  on;  let's  get  down  to  'em." 

There  seemed  nothing  else  to  do.  I  started,  leading 
Zim,  while  Lem  with  the  pick  over  his  shoulder  followed. 
As  we  approached  the  man  who  waited  us,  I  called  out 
in  as  natural  a  voice  as  I  could  manage: 

"  Hello  there,  mister." 

"  Hello  you."  He  answered  in  a  high-keyed  voice 
that  quavered  as  much  as  my  own.  "  You  boys  been 
living  in  this  linter?  " 

"Yes.    That's  our  hut." 

"  What's  it  doing  on  my  land?  " 

The  surprising  question  took  away  my  breath  for  a 
moment.  "Your — land?"  I  gasped,  finally.  "Your 
— why — why,  this  is  government  land!  " 

"  Not  by  a  jugful,  it  ain't.  This  here  strip  of  valley 
belongs  to  me — James  G.  Gallup,  of  Susanville,  Cali- 
forny — which  is  me.  You  boys  are  trespassing  on  my 
property.  I'm  orderin'  you,  accordin'  to  law,  to  git  off 
pronto — understand?  " 

All  my  castles  in  the  air  came  down  in  a  tumble  about 
me.  The  find  that  was  to  make  me  rich  was  on  an 
other's  land — on  this  man's  property.  It  was  his,  not 
mine. 

"  I — I  didn't  know,"  I  said,  almost  choking.  "  I 
thought  it  was  government  land — that  all  this  lakeside 
was  government  land." 

"  This  half-section,  includin'  the  creek  flats,  an'  way 

H7 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

up  to  them  redwoods,  is  my  homestead  filing,  and  I  don't 
want  any  campers  on  it,  either.  You  an'  the  other  kid 
git  off  quick — see?  " 

"  We  can  stay  the  night? "  I  asked,  trying  to  gather 
my  scattered  wits.  "  It's  too  late  to  get  anywhere  before 
evening,  and " 

"  'Tain't  too  late  to  git  off  my  property."  Gallup's 
voice  was  growing  stronger  as  mine  weakened.  "  Pack 
and  hike;  that's  what  you  kids  do.  Me  an'  my  pard- 
ner'll  need  the  hut  here." 

"  But  I  built  the  hut.  " 

"  Yes;  built  it  on  my  land  without  right  or  permit. 
Get  that?  Without  right  or  permit."  He  repeated  the 
words  with  a  sort  of  sleek  pleasure  at  their  sound.  Lem 
had  said  no  word  during  the  discussion,  standing  at  my 
shoulder,  but  upon  his  face  was  that  look  which  had 
caused  me  to  distrust  him,  a  hard  glint  of  the  eye,  the 
same  cunning,  fighting  light  I  have  caught  in  the  eyes 
of  a  trapped  animal  when  he  makes  his  last  strike  for 
freedom.  Now  he  spoke  for  the  first  time,  with  a  firm 
ness  I  had  never  observed  in  him  before,  and  his  voice 
was  cold  as  the  ice  on  the  peaks. 

"  You  have  papers  to  prove  what  you're  saying? "  he 
asked. 

'  That's  none  of  your  business " 

"  Hold  on."  Lem  shifted  the  pick  from  his  sHoulder 
in  a  suggestive  way  that  made  Gallup  start  nervously. 
"  That  is  business — our  business.  You're  taking  the 

148 


A  Question  of  Rights 

house  we  built,  and  we  want  better  than  just  your  say-so 
that  you  have  a  legal  right  here." 

"  What  you  want  is  a  clubbing,  and  you'll  get  one." 
Gallup's  words  were  bolder  than  his  actions.  He  made 
no  move  toward  Lem,  who  leaning  on  the  pick-handle, 
watched  him  through  half-closed  eyes.  I  could  see  a 
glitter  behind  the  lids.  His  life  had  taught  him  to  fight 
men,  had  given  him  keen  wits,  had  placed  on  his  face 
the  stamp  of  the  continual  battle  of  wits.  But  I  did  not 
distrust  it  now;  that  little  doubt  of  him  that  had  lingered 
always  at  the  back  of  my  mind  disappeared  as  he  began 
this  fight  for  me.  He  answered  Gallup's  threat  with  a 
quiet: 

"  Don't  start  anything  you're  not  sure  you  can  finish, 
Mister  Gallup.  We're  asking  only  what's  fair.  If  you 
own  this  creek,  show  us." 

The  man  hesitated,  but  he  was  evidently  impressed 
by  Lem's  voice  and  the  pick.  After  a  muttered  some 
thing  I  couldn't  catch,  he  turned  toward  the  hut,  say 
ing: 

"  I'll  show  ye  proofs,  dang  you!  Wait  here  and  I'll 
get  'em." 

"  We'll  wait,  all  right,"  Lem  promised,  and  as  soon 
as  the  man  was  out  of  hearing,  sent  me  an  undertone 
from  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  "  Look  through  that  pile 
they  brought  out.  Find  your  rifle — quick!  " 

I  ran  to  the  little  heap  I  had  watched  them  dump, 
caught  up  the  rifle,  threw  the  lever  to  see  that  it  was 

149 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

loaded,  and  came  back  to  Lem.  He  seemed  to  be  think 
ing  deeply,  that  curious,  keen  face  screwed  up  into  a 
deep  scowl.  I  stood  beside  him  and  waited.  Only  Zim 
seemed  free  from  care  and  apprehension,  as  he  nibbled 
the  grass  and  looked  at  the  little  donkeys  that  had 
usurped  his  pasture  lands. 

Gallup  came  out  of  the  shack  and  walked  swiftly 
toward  us.  In  his  hands  was  a  rifle,  and  at  sight  of  it,  I 
lifted  the  one  I  had  been  leaning  on,  its  butt  to  the 
ground.  Gallup  saw  the  action,  paused  for  an  instant, 
then  came  on  more  slowly.  He  shifted  the  gun  to  his 
left  hand,  and  then  I  saw  he  was  carrying  some  legal 
looking  documents,  which  he  held  out  as  he  approached. 
Still  holding  the  rifle,  my  right  hand  about  its  breech,  I 
took  them  and  opened  the  topmost  paper.  In  the  first 
glance,  I  saw  that  he  was  telling  truth;  he  was  the  right 
ful  possessor  of  the  property;  and  I  was  a  trespasser. 
It  was  a  notice  of  a  homestead  filing,  a  form  with  which 
I  was  thoroughly  familiar,  for  I  had  seen  many  at 
Jamesville. 

I  passed  the  paper  to  Lem,  and  looked  at  the  second 
slip,  the  land  office  receipt  for  the  fees,  an  unimportant 
detail ;  and  the  last  was  an  affidavit  of  some  kind,  a  more 
lengthy  writing.  I  had  only  glanced  at  it  when  Gallup's 
queer,  high-keyed  voice  broke  in: 

"  Enough,  ain't  it,  to  prove  you've  got  no  business 
here?" 

I  looked  at  him.  "  It  seems  to  be  all  correct,  Mr. 

150 


A  Question  of  Rights 

Gallup."  I  handed  Lem  the  two  sheets.  "  We'll  get 
off  your  property  at  once." 

"  In  a  minute — in  a  minute,"  from  Lem,  never  look 
ing  up  from  his  reading.  "  Give  me  time  to  p'roose 
these,  can't  you? " 

While  we  waited,  Gallup  impatient  enough,  I  studied 
him.  He  was  not  a  mountaineer  or  a  valley  rancher. 
He  was  small,  thin,  wizened,  with  the  face  of  a  rat,  run 
ning  strongly  to  nose ;  shifty  eyes,  and  a  slit  for  a  mouth, 
the  lips  working  nervously  all  the  time  to  show  a  few 
long,  yellow  teeth;  his  chin  ran  back  so  fast  that  one 
couldn't  tell  where  it  started  to  be  neck,  a  protuberant 
Adam's  apple  helping  the  deception.  And  his  clothes 
were  never  made  for  wear  in  the  hills.  The  shirt  had 
been  white  cotton,  the  sleeves  with  starched  cuffs  held 
up  by  elastics  above  the  elbows;  trousers,  gray,  badly 
soiled  and  spotted;  a  derby  hat;  and  shoes  of  russet 
brown,  now  almost  white  with  dust.  Man  and  rig-out 
gave  me  the  impression  of  a  merchant  or  professional 
man  in  a  small  town,  and  not  a  prosperous  man  or  town. 
Not  honest,  either,  I'd  have  added,  only  I  felt  that  I 
was  hardly  in  a  position  to  judge.  It  didn't  seem  square, 
his  taking  my  claim  and  hut,  even  though  legal  formali 
ties  had  been  complied  with. 

"  Guess  these  are  O.  K.,"  said  Lem  finally,  but  al 
though  Gallup  promptly  put  out  his  hand,  Lem  passed 
them  to  me.  And  I  saw  that  his  finger  indicated  a  place 
on  the  upper  paper.  He  went  on  talking,  as  I  read 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

what  was  tKere.  "  Mr.  Gallup,  you've  got  a  fine  piece 
of  farm  land.  I've  had  some  experience  farming,  and  I 
advise  you  to  put  in  potatoes,  onions  and  sweet  peas," 
— mechanically  I  was  listening  while  my  eyes  followed 
the  script — "  on  that  wild  rose  thicket  there  up  the  creek, 
about  half  an  acre  in  it.  Miner's  lettuce  and  beefsteak 
mushrooms  grow  wild,  so  you  won't  have  to  put  them 
in.  However,  sir,  if  you'll  let  me  suggest " — he  held 
the  bewildered  Gallup,  who  must  have  thought  him 
crazy,  a  hand  on  his  shirt-sleeve,  and  was  pointing  his 
gaze  across  to  the  slope — "  I'd  suggest  that  the  pine-nut 
orchard  be  put  in  on  yonder  hill."  Lem  was  making 
time  for  me  to  read  every  word  of  the  affidavit. 

I  did  read  it,  while  he  talked  absurdities  to  a  man  who 
was  no  more  dense  or  confused  than  I ;  for  I  did  not  find 
in  my  careful  perusal  of  the  document  what  Lem's  eyes 
had  found  in  a  glance.  When  I  handed  it,  with  the 
other  papers,  to  Gallup,  I  knew  only  that  it  was  the 
copy  of  a  petition  and  affidavit,  asking  that  the  govern 
ment  throw  open  this  section  of  the  National  Forest 
Reserve  to  settlement.  It  was  hours  later  that  I  learned 
what  Lem  knew,  and  was  glad  he  had  given  me  oppor 
tunity  to  study  it. 

"  We'll  be  on  our  way,"  Lem  finished  with  Gallup. 
"  Pack  and  hike,  as  you  put  it.  Come  along,  Ted."  He 
was  quite  cheerful. 

"  You'll  find  your  stuff  all  together  there,"  squeaked 
Gallup.  "  We  piled  it  for  ye.  We  aim  to  be  all  legal 

15* 


A  Question  of  Rights 

and  square,  and  if  anything's  missing,  sing  out  an'  we'll 
make  it  right.  Glad  you're  going  to  take  it  sensible, 
and  no  fuss.  Good-bye,"  and  he  went  back  to  the  hut. 

Sadly  enough  I  led  Zim  to  the  little  stack,  all  that  was 
left  of  my  dreams;  together  we  packed  him,  neither  say 
ing  a  word;  and  set  off  down  the  lake  toward  the  trail 
that  led  back  to  Jamesville.  We  had  gone  some  dis 
tance  when  Lem,  walking  beside  me,  glanced  back,  then 
said: 

"  Notice  how  Gallup's  pardner  kept  out  of  sight  all 
the  time?  "  I  nodded.  I  couldn't  find  words  yet.  "  I'd 
like  to  know  what  he's  done  to  make  him  afraid  to  show 
his  face." 

I  gave  no  answer.  Back  there,  I  could  see  the  smoke 
from  my  stubby  little  chimney,  the  green  sides  of  my 
hut  against  the  brown  rocks  beyond.  Even  in  the  short 
time  that  lean-to  had  sheltered  me,  it  had  grown  to  seem 
like  home,  and  I  was  sad  enough  at  leaving  it.  Lem 
seemed  to  read  my  thoughts,  for  he  bleated: 

"  '  Be  it  ever  so  humble '  " 

"Shut  up!  "I  snapped. 

"  '  There's  no  place  like ' — our  hut,"  he  finished, 
laughing.  "  Come  out  of  it,  Ted.  Take  a  brace.  The 
worst  is  yet  to  come." 

"  I'll  be  all  right — in  a  minute." 

"  Take  your  time.  Ted,  are  you  game  to  follow 
me?" 

"Whereto?" 

153 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

' '  Take  a  chance,  can't  you  ?  Follow  and  say  nothing. ' ' 

"  Very  well,"  I  agreed.  He  couldn't  lead  me  any 
where  I  hated  worse  to  go  than  Jamesville.  There  was 
even  a  little  urge  of  hope  in  his  suggestion.  "  Go  ahead, 
I'll  follow." 

But  there  was  no  change  in  our  direction  with  him 
leading.  All  the  short  balance  of  the  afternoon,  Lem 
strode  around  the  side  of  the  lake  toward  the  trail  at  its 
end.  When  I  had  come  out  of  my  grouch  and  was 
anxious  to  question,  he  had  seemingly  just  entered  his, 
for  he  shut  me  up  with: 

"  Talk  later  on,  Ted ;  regular  gab-f est  then.  I  want 
to  work  my  think-factory  now."  And  he  relapsed  into 
silence. 

It  was  nightfall  when  we  passed  the  deserted  cabin, 
dark  and  grim  in  the  black  oaks ;  and  the  stars  were  out 
in  full  brilliance  as  we  came  into  the  main  trail  where 
it  rounded  onto  the  lake's  edge.  I  broke  the  silence  to 
suggest: 

"  Better  camp  here,  eat  a  bite,  and  wait  for  the  moon 
to  come  up." 

"  Later,"  Lem  answered,  shortly,  turning  toward  the 
west — and  Jamesville.  Despondently  I  followed. 
Somehow,  I'd  hoped,  he  would  find  a  way  that  didn't 
mean  the  back-track  and  failure.  He  added,  "  Can't 
you  make  that  nag  walk  beside  you,  instead  of  behind?  " 
'  The  trail's  too  narrow." 

"  Let  him  walk  in  the  grass.    It  won't  kill  him/' 

154 


A  Question  of  Rights 

"  Why  should  he?  "     I  was  in  a  mood  to  argue. 

"  To  make  hoof-prints.  He  isn't  leaving*  any  on  the 
Hard  trail." 

"  Hoof-prints? "  I  echoed.  "  What  do  you  want  of 
hoof -prints? " 

"  For  James  G. — the  G  standing  for  Goober,  a  pea 
nut — Gallup,  and  Pardner  Man-Af raid-of-His-Shadow 
to  follow.  They're  going  to  make  sure  we're  gone,  and 
we  want  them  dead  sure  of  it.  So  let  there  be  tracks." 

"  And  we  aren't  going  to  Jamesville? "  I  cried  joy 
fully. 

"Whoa!"  Lem  commanded,  and  Zim  stopped 
abruptly.  "  Ted,  you  old  snail,  would  I  be  going  back 
to  old  Wayne?  Would  I  lead  to  Jamesville? " 

I  was  so  happy  at  the  hope  he  gave  that  I  didn't  care 
what  discredit  he  threw  at  my  intellect.  It  was  true  that 
he  thought  more  quickly,  more  readily  than  I,  and  his 
experience  had  been  with  people,  while  mine  had  been 
with  things.  Unconsciously,  I  had  looked  to  him  as  the 
leader  from  the  moment  we  began  talking  to  Gallup. 
Now  I  questioned  eagerly  as  to  his  plans,  to  be  met  with 
a  firm,  "  Leave  it  to  me.  You  keep  your  eyes  peeled  for 
a  place  where  we  can  double  back  without  being  followed 
by  a  trailer.  That's  up  to  you,  for  I  don't  know  how 
keen  their  eyes  are,  or  what  tracks  they  can  see." 

"  You  want  to  swing  back,  but  leave  Gallup,  if  he 
follows,  to  believe  we  have  gone  on  to  Jamesville? " 

"  Yep." 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  Easily  done,  Lem.  About  half  a  mile  ahead  is 
where  Zim  broke  into  the  trail  the  night  he  ran  away 
from  the  mountain  lion.  We'll  bring  Zim  up  to  that 
place  to  hitch  up  the  tracks,  and  if  Gallup  or  Pardner 
want  to  follow,  they  can  keep  right  on  Zim's  trail  to 
Ophir  Creek.  Is  that  far  enough?  " 

"  Plenty.  How  do  we  turn  back  without  its  show 
ing?" 

"  I'll  fix  it,"  I  promised,  and  we  went  ahead.  At  the 
place  where  Zim  had  come  from  the  woods,  we  turned 
in,  and  I  went  back  to  straighten  out  the  broken  brush 
and  remove  all  signs  of  our  leaving  or  Zim's  old  en 
trance.  Lem  looked  on,  approved  the  result,  then  sug 
gested  camp  and  supper.  I  took  the  packs  from  Zim, 
and  was  about  to  open  out  the  blankets,  but  Lem 
stopped  me. 

"  Just  here  till  the  moon  rises,"  he  said.  "  Time  for 
a  snack  of  cold  biscuits,  and  a  pull  at  the  canteen.  Rest 
your  legs  while  you  can,  for  we've  a  long  tramp  before 
dawn."  And  he  dropped  on  a  fallen  log. 

'  Where  are  we  going,  Lem?  "  I  asked,  handing  him 
his  share  of  the  food.  But  his  reply  was  the  same  as 
before. 

"  Leave  it  to  me." 

After  a  time  spent  in  munching  and  meditation,  I 
asked  another  question. 

"  Lem,  do  you  suppose  Gallup  is  the  man  who  was 
hiding  in  the  deserted  cabin? " 

156 


A  Question  of  Rights 

"  No.  Bears  would  eat  him.  The  chipmunks  would 
scare  him  to  death.  He'd  be  worse  off  than  I'd  be,  for 
James  Goober-peanuts  Gallup  is  from  the  city — and 
his  city  is  that  metropolis  of  the  mountain  peaks,  Susan- 
ville." 

"  But  his  partner " 

"  Pardner  hid  in  the  cabin,  and  now  hides  in  your 
hut.  A  grand  little  old  hider  is  Pardner.  And  he  stole 
Zim,  and  brought  Zim  back.  He  knows  where  your 
gold  lies  in  the  creek,  spied  on  you  when  you  was  pan 
ning  it  out.  Pardner  can't  take  a  homestead,  can't  do 
business  for  himself,  can't  do  much  else  but  hide  out,  so 
he  rides  Zim  away  to  dig  up  Gallup,  who  can.  Pardner 
is  a  very  silent  pardner — for  a  reason." 

"  What's  the  reason,  Lem?  " 

"  When  I  was  keeping  house  in  the  Italian  quarter 
of  San  Francisco,  I  kept  a  tin  can  full  of  water  beside 
the  stove  and  used  to  grab  it  suddenly  at  times  and  dump 
it  all  over  the  stove;  or  if  I  was  out  weeding  my  garden, 
I'd  drop  on  all  fours  and  scurry  under  a  pile  of  cor 
rugated  iron.  The  reason  was  the  same  as  Pardner's, 
or  I  miss  my  guess.  The  bulls.  The  cops.  The  min- 
yons  of  the  law." 

"  You  think  he's  dodging  arrest? " 

"  He  acts  as  I  acted  when  I  wasn't  anxious  to  meet 
a  policeman.  But  leave  go  this  Sherlock-Holmesing 
stuff  till  we  get  into  permanent  camp.  Think  all  you 
can  now,  hike  when  you  can  and  as  hard  as  you  can,  but 

157 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

let's  hold  the  chatter  till  we  get  fixed  for  to-morrow's 
business.  Then,  if  it  isn't  time  to  be  doing,  I'll  talk 
you  black  and  blue,"  and  his  face  lighted  up  with  that 
irresistible  grin. 

As  the  moon  was  beginning  to  show,  we  started, 
headed  back  to  the  lake,  but  making  a  wide  circuit  to 
cross  the  trail  to  Susanville  far  to  the  east.  I  knew  now 
where  Lem  was  leading.  He  was  going  to  our  valley, 
but  aiming  to  hit  it  above  the  redwood  forest.  As  this 
was  the  route  I  had  taken  that  first  day,  I  made  quick 
time  over  the  rough  going,  and  we  came  into  the  ravine  a 
little  after  midnight,  and  had  soon  entered  the  big  trees. 
Here  in  the  shadows  we  stumbled  along  till  Lem  said 
finally: 

"  Any  good  place  now  will  suit  me  for  a  camp.  I'm 
tired  of  kicking  down  these  trees." 

"  Hold  Zim  till  I  look  about  a  bit,"  and  I  began  pok 
ing  around  the  bases  of  some  of  the  larger  trunks.  Soon 
I  found  what  I  wanted,  went  back  and  helped  Lem  un 
pack  the  horse,  tied  him,  and  told  Lem  to  follow  me. 

"  Duck  your  head  here,"  I  said.  "  Now  you're  in 
your  house,"  and  scratching  a  match,  I  held  it  above  my 
head  to  illumine  a  great  hollow  center  of  a  tree,  ten  feet 
across  its  greatest  diameter,  and  running  up  indefinitely. 
"  As  soon  as  I  hang  a  blanket  over  the  door,  we'll  have 
a  fire." 

A  few  minutes  later,  a  little  blaze  in  the  center  of  our 
floor  was  lighting  the  interior,  and  Lem  was  almost 

158 


A  Question  of  Rights 

chortling  with  glee  at  this  house  with  a  chimney  all  pre 
pared  for  us. 

"  Why,"  he  cried,  "  it's  almost  as  fine  as  my  place  on 
the  bay  front  in  San  Francisco!  Let's  have  coffee? " 

"  Keep  us  awake." 

"  That's  why.  We've  got  to  keep  awake.  You're 
going  to  listen — ask  questions  if  you  want.  I'm  going 
to  talk.  Then  we're  going  to  do.  Put  that  pot  on  the 
fire." 

I  filled  it  from  the  canteen,  placed  a  big  handful  of 
coffee  in,  then  as  it  began  to  sizzle,  Lem  started  to  talk. 


159 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  CONFERENCE  IN  A  TREE 

44  TT\EANUTS  GALLUP  has  just  one  good  argu- 

r"^  ment  for  taking  your  claim,  Ted,"  and  Lem 
Strong,  seated  on  an  end  of  the  blanket  beside 
the  fire,  had  begun  the  conference  of  the  hollow  red 
wood. 

"  What's  that? "  I  asked  promptly. 

"  A  rifle.  That  rifle  is  his  right,  law,  and  legal  pos 
session.  And,  if  he  knows  how  to  use  it,  it's  a  good  ar 
gument." 

"  It's  not  an  argument — no  right  at  all,"  I  declared 

160 


A  Conference  in  a  Tree 

hotly.  "  You  can't  just  steal  things — even  in  the  moun 
tains — with  or  without  a  rifle." 

"  Goober  Gallup  and  Pardner  did  this  afternoon." 

"  But  he  had  the  papers — a  legal  filing " 

"  Nothing  but  a  rifle  that  carried  any  weight — not 
with  me,  anyhow.  Did  you  read  what  I  stuck  my  thumb 
on?" 

"  I  did.  It  was  a  petition — the  customary  form  of 
petition  and  affidavit  for  a  homestead  filing  on  Forest 
Reserve." 

"  Where  I  pointed,  did  you  read  it  there? "  Lem  in 
sisted. 

"  Yes.  He  swore  that  to  the  best  of  his  knowledge 
and  belief  the  land  was  of  more  value  for  agricultural 
purposes  than  for  timber  or  mineral." 

"  Or  mineral,"  Lem  repeated.  "  And  that,  so  far 
as  he  knew,  there  was  no  mineral  of  value  on  the, 
tract." 

"  Yes;  but  maybe  he  didn't  know." 

"  The  date  of  that  filing  was  May  twelfth,  this  month. 
What  day  did  you  find  the  gold,  Ted?  " 

"Last  Saturday.  That  would  be  the  tenth."  I  began 
seeing  light.  "  You  mean  he  knew  there  was  gold  be 
fore  he  made  the  filing?  " 

"  He  did.  That  affidavit  is  just  a  bunch  of  lies.  How 
much  good  farm-land  is  there  in  that  half  section  he's 
homesteaded? " 

"  A  few  acres,  maybe  twenty  out  of  the  three  hundred 

161 


Black  Boulder  Claim 
and  twenty  he  claims.    The  rest  is  too  rocky  for  any 


use." 


"  Then  he  don't  get  it,  Ted;  and  you  do,"  Lem  de 
clared  positively,  and  got  up  to  pour  us  the  coffee  which 
had  boiled  sufficiently.  I  sat,  tin  cup  in  hand,  and 
thought.  Theoretically,  Lem  might  be  right;  but  I 
knew  of  a  number  of  hillside  homesteads  that  were  no 
better  farm-land  than  Gallup's ;  that  had  been  taken-up 
because  of  their  mineral  chances ;  that  the  Government 
had  given  title  to,  regardless  of  this  clause  in  the  law 
of  settlement.  I  told  Lem  of  them. 

"  That's  another  story,"  he  replied.  "  Those  farms 
were  never  on  a  Forest  Reserve,  and  that  makes  the 
difference." 

"How?" 

"  Before  Gallup's  application  is  accepted,  the  Govern 
ment  must  hear  protests  against  the  opening  of  the  land 
to  settlement,  and  the  applicant  must  prove  that  his 
affidavit  is  facts.  I  learned  that  from  the  fine  print  on 
the  paper,  Ted." 

"And  I  must  protest?" 

"  As  loud  as  you  can  yell.  You're  to  be  the  protest- 
ingest  protester  in  all  Plumas  County.  You're  going  to 
get  somebody  from  the  land-office — somebody  in  author 
ity — to  look  over  this  tract,  and  he'll  learn  just  how  true 
that  affidavit  is." 

"  That'll  be  the  forest  ranger." 

"Very  well.  We'll  show  him  over  the  place,  and 

162 


A  Conference  in  a  Tree 

we'll  show  him  valuable  minerals,  and  unvaluable  rocks. 
We'll  make  Gallup's  farm  look  like  a  hunk  of  Swiss 
cheese — full  of  holes."  He  tested  his  tin  of  coffee  to 
find  it  too  hot.  "  Why  didn't  Gallup  file  a  mine  claim, 
Ted? " 

"  He  couldn't.  You  have  to  discover  mineral,  de 
scribe  the  find  and  mark  your  claim." 

"  I  see.    But  you  can." 

"  No-o."  I  hated  to  say  it.  "  I  haven't  marked  my 
find,  Lem." 

"You  haven't!  Why — for  the  love  of  Mike,  why 
not?" 

I  stammered,  but  I  got  it  out.  "  I  was  afraid  to.  I 
didn't  want  you  to  know.  I'd  have  done  it  to-morrow 
— after  telling  you  about  it." 

Lem  sat  down  again  at  the  far  end  of  the  blanket. 
He  gulped  at  the  coffee,  then  sputtered  it  out  of  a 
burned  mouth.  I  heard,  but  I  wasn't  looking  at  him. 
My  eyes  were  on  the  ground,  ashamed.  Here  Lem  was 
saving  my  claim  for  me,  and  I'd  been  afraid  he  might 
steal  it. 

"  I  guess  you  were  wise,  Ted,"  he  finally  broke  out. 
*  When  they  arrested  me  for  keeping  house  in  my  tin 
shanty  on  Taylor  Street,  the  cop  proved  in  court  that  I 
was  incorrig'ble.  That's  pretty  bad.  But,  Ted,  I  never 
stole  candy  from  children.  I  never  shoved  a  legal  docu 
ment  into  a  baby's  face  and  made  him  give  over  his  gold 
teething-ring." 

163 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

I  deserved  it.  "  Lem,"  I  explained,  "  your  getting 
in  the  same  afternoon  Zim  did,  and  what  they  said  about 
you  back  at  Jamesville,  and  your  running  away  from 
the  court  order,  and  all,  it  made  me  afraid  to  trust  you. 
I  was  wrong;  felt  wrong  all  the  time.  And  I'm  not  go 
ing  to  kick  at  paying  for  being  wrong.  First,  I  want 
to  apologize  to  you.  I'm  sorry,  Lem.  Will  you  forgive 
me?" 

"  Will  I?  "  He  was  shaking  my  hand  so  heartily  it 
made  my  fingers  ache.  "  Forget  it,  Ted.  Wow!  This 
coffee's  hot!" 

The  face  he  made  as  he  tried  to  swallow  the  scalding 
liquid  relieved  the  tension,  and  we  both  laughed.  When 
he  had  recovered  his  breath,  he  asked: 

"  Just  how  do  you  mark  a  gold  claim?  " 

"  A  post  or  cairn  of  rock  at  discovery,  with  the  notice 
buried  at  its  base.  Then  four  corner  posts,  smoothed  on 
their  outer  surface  and  plainly  labeled." 

"  And  what  time  is  it  now?  " 

Eagerly  I  looked  at  the  watch.  I  caught  the  idea. 
Again  Lem  was  going  to  save  me  the  claim.  '  Ten 
minutes  of  one,"  I  cried,  jumping  to  my  feet.  '  We'll 
have  time,  Lem.  Let's  go." 

"  Finish  your  coffee,"  he  laughed.  "  A  few  minutes 
more  won't  matter,  and  I'm  not  through  talking.  We'll 
mark  your  claim  before  they  do,  and  by  daylight  you'll 
be  on  Zim  headed  for  Susanville  and  a  land-office. 
You'll  make  a  mineral  filing,  put  in  a  protest  against 

164 


A  Conference  in  a  Tree 

Gallup's  homestead  claim,  ask  for  a  forest  ranger  to  look 
it  over,  and  buy  me  some  garden  seeds." 

"  I'll  do  all  that,"  I  agreed.  "  And  you'll  come  with 
me  and  help." 

"  N-o-t,  not!  In  the  first  place,  I  can't  walk  as  fast 
as  Zim  can  gallop ;  in  the  second,  I'm  going  to  prevent 
Mr.  Goober  Gallup  and  Parclner  from  finding  gold  on 
their  farm.^ 

"  How?  They  know  of  my  find — can  walk  right  to 
it." 

"  Oh,  cut  it,  Ted!  Listen.  At  daybreak,  when  you're 
galloping  Susan-wards,  I'm  going  to  be  lying  some 
where  up  in  these  rocks  with  that  shooter  of  yours,  and 
whichever  of  Gallup  and  Pardner  gets  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  that  dam  is  going  to  think  steel  hornets  have 
broken  loose.  I'm  going  to  stop  gold-finding  and  claim- 
marking  with  the  rifle.  Why  not?  " 

I  began  shaking  my  head  before  he  was  half  through 
this  speech,  shaking  a  negative  as  decided  as  words  could 
be.  Whatever  Gallup  had  done  of  dishonesty  against 
me  and  my  claim,  I  was  not  ready  to  resort  to  such 
means  to  save  it.  I  answered  Lem  with  a  quiet: 

"  I  won't  stand  for  any  killing,  Lem." 

"  Killing?  "  his  eyes  were  dancing.  "  Who  talks  of 
killing?  I  couldn't  hit  a  man  with  that  rifle  if  he  was 
fifty  feet  away,  let  alone  fifteen  hundred.  I'll  promise 
you  never  to  kill  a  one  of  'em." 

I  laughed  as  I  poured  him  another  cup  of  coffee,  with: 

165 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"Drink  and  forget  your  wild  dreams  of  slaughter. 
Rather  than  get  back  here  to  find  you  shot,  or  the  shooter 
of  someone,  I'd  lose  a  million  claims." 

"  I  wasn't  bothering  over  your  claim;  I  was  thinking 
of  my  garden,"  Lem  sighed,  forgetting  again  that  coffee 
comes  hot.  "Christmas  Eve!  Molten  lead!"  and  he 
dropped  the  can  and  its  contents.  I  picked  up  the  for 
mer,  straightening  out  its  dented  rim,  with: 

"  I'll  need  this.  Wonder  where  I  put  its  cover? " 
And  I  began  a  search  through  the  sack. 

"  But  that's  my  drinking  cup,"  Lem  protested. 

"  Use  mine.  This  tin  baking-powder  can  has  ceased 
to  be  a  lowly  drinking  vessel,  and  from  now  on,  is  the 
container  of  the  notice  that  makes  you  and  me  rich, 
Lem."  I  had  found  the  top,  also  a  piece  of  paper  and 
the  stub  of  a  pencil.  "  What  do  we  call  our  claim?  "  I 
finished,  as  I  brought  the  writing  materials  to  the  light 
of  the  fire. 

"  Our  claim? "    Lem's  eyes  were  popping. 

"  Sure — ours.    What  do  we  name  it?    It  has  to  have 


a  name." 


'  The  Hot  Biscuit,"  Lem  suggested  promptly.  And 
I  wrote: 

"  The  Hot  Biscuit  gold  placer  claim,  on  a  creek  not 
named,  on  the  east  shore  of  Eagle  Lake,  about  eight  miles 
from  its  southern  end.  Discovery  made  here  of  placer 
gold  on  the  tenth  day  of  May,  1919.  We  claim  one 
hundred  feet  above  discovery,  and  five  hundred  feet  be- 

166 


A  Conference  in  a  Tree 

low  discovery,  as  marked  by  cairns  and  posts. 

Signed "  and  I  scrawled  my  own  name  and  handed 

the  paper  to  Lem.  "  Put  your  sig  right  below  mine,"  I 
said. 

"But— I— me  — 

I  thrust  the  pencil  into  his  hand.  "  You're  half -owner 
of  the  Hot  Biscuit ;  you're  my  partner.  Sign." 

With  eyes  that  were  dancing  and  a  trembling  hand, 
Lem  placed  a  large  Lemuel  P.  Strong  upon  the  paper. 
Then  he  slipped  a  hand  into  mine  and  said  soberly: 

"  I  thank  you,  Ted  Wilson.  I'll  never  forget  you  did 
this.  Now  I've  got  a  home." 


167 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  LYNX  INTERFERES 

AN  hour  later  I  had  added  another  baking-powder 
can  to  the  thousands  in  rock  cairns,  and  in  the 
ground  at  the  foot  of  posts,  marking  the  hopes 
of  prospectors  throughout  the  Sierras.    The  "  Hot  Bis 
cuit  "  placer  claim  had  been  officially  located.     I  had 
worked,  while  Lem,  rifle  in  hand,  watched  the  hut  where 
the  jumpers  slept;  and  I  had  been  quiet. 

The  moon,  though  low  hanging  in  the  west,  still  man 
aged  to  cut  into  the  brush  so  that  Lem's  suggestion  that 
we  wind  up  the  night's  adventures  with  a  visit  to  the 

168 


A  Lynx  Interferes 


traps  was  reasonable  and  wise.  I  intended  to  leave  him 
the  bacon  and  flour,  but  a  little  fresh  food  would  im 
prove  conditions  in  the  redwood  pantry. 

"  And  the  set-line,"  he  added.  "  Let's  haul  it  in,  and 
see  what's  on  it." 

I  vetoed  that  promptly;  as  Lem  would  say,  I  didn't 
want  to  start  anything,  and  we'd  need  to  pass  close  to 
the  sleeping  men  to  get  to  the  trawl.  "  We'll  make  'em 
a  present  of  that,"  I  said,  leading  the  way  to  the  quail 
trap. 

It  was  empty,  and  we  separated  there,  to  meet  at  the 
hollow  tree.  Lem  was  to  look  at  the  twitch-ups  on  the 
north  side  of  the  creek,  I  the  others,  for  we  needed  to 
hurry,  as  daylight  came  early. 

I  watched  Lem  safely  into  the  thickets,  then  cut  across 
to  the  first  of  my  string  of  traps  to  find  it  empty  and  un 
sprung.  Just  beyond,  in  a  growth  of  lilacs  and  cascara, 
was  the  trap  which  once  before  I  had  found  dangling 
without  visible  reason.  As  I  came  up  to  it  now,  I  could 
see  that  the  strong  sapling  was  held  down  part  way  by 
some  weight  which  low  brush  kept  from  view.  I  was 
pushing  through  to  it  when  a  noise  and  the  shaking  of 
the  sapling  stopped  me.  More  cautiously  then,  I 
worked  my  way  to  where  I  could  see  the  contents  of  the 
trap.  In  the  noose  was  a  lynx,  caught  by  the  neck  and 
shoulder,  one  front  paw  through  the  line  preventing  the 
slip-knot  from  tightening  to  choke  him.  Too  heavy  a 
weight  for  the  sapling  to  lift  clear,  his  hind  paws  rested 

169 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

on  the  ground,  and  he  was  making  vicious  swings 
with  his  loose  foreleg  in  impotent  efforts  to  free  him 
self. 

Never  had  I  seen  an  animal  so  enraged.  His 
struggles  had  merely  tightened  the  hold  of  the  trap. 
The  strong  fish-line  and  stout  sapling  held  him  so  he 
could  not  squirm  loose,  nor  was  he  able  to  reach  and 
cut  the  cord  with  his  claws.  With  eyes  contracted, 
tufted  ears  laid  back,  hair  of  the  spine  standing  up,  he 
snarled  and  spit  at  me  in  venomous  hate.  He  was  as 
large  as  a  good  sized  dog,  with  all  the  power  and  muscle 
a  cat  that  size  would  have. 

Instinctively  I  took  a  backward  step  or  two,  a  bit 
startled.  Then,  laying  aside  the  rifle,  I  lifted  the  shovel 
I  carried  in  both  hands,  intending  to  bring  its  blade 
down  on  the  beast's  head  and  brain  him.  That  swing 
would  have  ended  matters  then  and  there,  had  he  not 
dodged  like  a  cat.  Instantly  he  sprang  at  my  throat. 
The  sharp  edge  of  the  shovel  had  cut  the  cord. 

I  went  backward  down  to  my  knees  with  the  force 
of  the  impact,  but  the  shovel  handle  I  still  held  kept 
him  from  my  neck,  and  his  teeth  closed  in  the  flesh  of 
the  left  shoulder,  while  his  rear  claws  ripped  into  the 
thigh.  Dropping  the  shovel,  I  reached  for  the  throat, 
and  my  two  hands  met  in  the  thick  fur  that  ruffed  his 
neck  like  heavy  whiskers.  Desperately  bracing  myself 
with  one  leg  behind  me,  I  closed  thumbs  and  fingers 
upon  his  throat.  If  I  could  only  shut  off  breath  to  make 

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A  Lynx  Interferes 

him  unlock  his  teeth  before  the  ripping  claws  found  a 
more  vital  part  of  me. 

The  long  fur  blocked  the  power  of  my  clutching  fin 
gers.  The  muse1  \s  of  the  left  arm  were  being  paralyzed 
by  the  stinging  pain  of  clenched  teeth  at  the  shoulder. 
Slowly  I  was  being  forced  back  and  down  by  the 
strength  of  the  attack  and  the  beast's  weight,  and  once 
down  I  was  lost ;  a  quick  shift  of  his  teeth  to  my  throat 
would  end  it. 

Breathing  in  gasps,  I  strained  every  muscle  to  re 
cover  my  balance,  to  strengthen  the  hold  of  the  bracing 
leg,  slipping  in  the  grass,  to  find  surer  grip  for  my  fin 
gers  in  the  tough  neck  muscles.  With  all  the  reserve  I 
could  muster,  I  forced  the  big  cat  away  from  me  so  that 
his  claws  could  not  rip  the  flesh.  Though  his  teeth  still 
held  in  my  shoulder,  and  the  claws  of  his  forepaws  were 
sunk  in  my  back,  I  was  free  for  the  moment  from  the 
agony  and  danger  of  those  slashing  hind  legs;  and  my 
thumbs,  shifting  lower  beneath  the  jowls,  found  better 
grip  to  close  against  fingers  on  windpipe  and  jugular. 

Now  it  was  a  question  of  endurance ;  could  I  maintain 
the  pressure?  Would  my  muscles  obey  the  impulse 
long  enough  to  force  loose  that  locked  jaw?  Every 
ounce  of  strength  I  had  was  already  in  the  effort,  and  I 
was  weakening  fast.  Then  I  felt  my  antagonist  give  an 
inch,  and  somehow  I  strengthened.  There  was  relax  in 
the  surging  paws.  I  took  new  hold  on  the  sod  with  the 
foot  that  supported  the  brace,  and  I  gained  that  inch 

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Black  Boulder  Claim 

the  lynx  gave.  My  thumb  against  the  larynx  stiffened 
to  dig  a  bit  deeper.  In  the  cat's  strained  sinews  was  the 
tremor  of  clogged  breath.  If  I  could  hold  a  minute 
more  I  had  won.  But  a  minute  was  eternity. 

Then  my  left  arm  refused  longer  to  obey  my  will. 
Just  as  I  had  felt  the  slackened  effort  of  the  beast,  so 
now  he  felt  mine,  and  releasing  his  teeth  from  their  hold, 
struggled  forward  for  the  throat-grip.  A  few  inches 
was  all  the  gain  he  needed,  and  my  left  arm,  helplessly 
dangling,  gave  him  claw-hold  to  climb.  I  looked  into 
red  eyes  so  close  to  mine  that  I  could  see  the  desperation 
in  their  bloodshot,  popping  gaze,  as  I  added  a  last  mite 
of  pressure  to  my  hand  in  his  throat.  What  his  eyes 
read  in  mine  I  do  not  know,  but  I  had  won.  Not  the 
fraction  of  an  inch  nearer  did  he  come,  and  I  watched 
his  tongue  curl  back  between  the  open  fangs,  the  slaver 
drip  from  his  jaws,  the  eyes  roll  up;  felt  the  struggle 
cease  in  a  convulsive  final  tremor;  held  him,  inanimate 
at  arm's  length  for  an  instant;  then  toppled  over  on  his 
dead  body. 

Lem  found  me  there  just  at  daybreak,  after  he  had 
gone  back  to  the  hollow  tree  and  waited  for  what  seemed 
hours  to  him.  A  hatful  of  water  in  my  face  brought  me 
to,  and  with  him  on  one  side  and  the  shovel  for  a  cane, 
I  was  able  to  limp  to  the  redwood.  Though  I  had  lost 
considerable  blood,  and  the  flesh  of  arms  and  leg  was 
badly  torn,  no  bones  had  been  crushed,  and  the  only 
serious  wound  was  the  bite  in  my  shoulder.  Already  it 

172 


A  Lynx  Interferes 

was  inflamed,  purpled,  and  the  punctures  of  the  teeth 
were  not  bleeding  at  all;  nor  could  I  raise  the  arm.  I 
knew  that  something  must  be  done  to  start  the  flow  of 
blood,  and  cleanse  the  wound  of  infection. 

"  Help  me  off  with  these  rags,  Lem,"  I  said.  "  Strip 
me  quick  and  get  me  into  the  creek." 

"  To  freeze?  "  His  face  was  white,  his  grin  had  gone. 
"  Why,  it'll  kill  you,  Ted.  You're  clawed  wide  open." 

"  This  bite  has  to  be  started  bleeding,  and  in  a  hurry. 

Don't  talk '  I  was  already  loosening  buttons. 

"  Get  busy  and  help." 

He  shuddered,  but  went  at  the  job  with  nimble  fin 
gers,  cutting  away  with  a  knife  where  cloth  had  closed 
with  the  wound  too  tightly  to  be  lifted.  Some  of  the 
scratches  on  my  forearm  were  clear  to  the  bone,  and  the 
thigh  had  been  deep-ripped  in  a  number  of  places.  Both 
bites  and  scratches  needed  cold  water,  and  lots  of  it. 
Stretched  out  in  a  shallow  pool,  shivering  so  that  my 
teeth  rattled  like  the  seeds  in  a  dry  gourd,  I  let  the  icy 
current  flow  over  all  my  body  to  open  the  wounds  that 
had  clotted  and  start  the  blood  again.  It  soothed  the 
pain,  but  on  the  bank  Lem  suffered  for  me. 

"  Christmas  Eve! "  he  shivered.  "  If  I  was  you,  I'd 
be  an  icicle !  " 

"  Lem,"  I  said,  "  light  a  fire  inside  the  tree,  a  big  fire, 
and  put  a  full  pot  of  coffee  on  to  boil.  Then  bring  me 
a  blanket,"  and  I  lay  and  wondered  how  long  I  could 
stand  the  cold.  When  finally  he  helped  me  from  the 

173 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

water,  wrapped  my  big  blanket  around  me,  and  half 
carried  me  to  the  side  of  a  blaze  that  was  fast  making  an 
oven  of  our  hollow  tree,  I  was  sure  that  I  had  washed 
away  all  danger  of  poison  in  the  wounds.  With  my 
spare  shirt  ripped  up  for  bandages,  the  wounds  were 
rudely  dressed  with  fir  balsam  to  soothe  them,  and  I  be 
gan  to  regain  control  of  my  chattering  teeth. 

Lem  had  found  two  cottontails  in  the  traps  he  had 
visited,  and  after  we  had  drunk  our  coffee,  he  started 
making  them  into  a  stew.  I  showed  him  how  to  skin 
the  little  animals,  and  then  suggested  that  he  slip  away 
down  to  the  place  of  the  struggle  and  bring  back  the 
lynx.  "  It'll  make  a  dandy  skin,"  I  said,  "  and  help  for 
bed  covering." 

"  But  I  couldn't  get  it  off,"  Lem  objected.  "  Why, 
Ted,  I  couldn't  even  skin-the-cat !  " 

"  That's  just  what  you'll  do,"  I  laughed.  "  It's  as 
easy  as  a  rabbit — easier,  for  the  hide  is  tougher.  Go 
get  it,  Lem ;  it's  too  valuable  to  lose." 

He  turned  to  the  door,  then  stopped.  "  Ted,"  he 
said,  "  would  you  mind  wising  me  as  to  why  you  didn't 
shoot  that  lynx,  instead  of  letting  him  use  you  for  a 
beefsteak? " 

"  They'd  have  heard  the  shot— Gallup  and  Pardner." 

He  went  away,  muttering  something  that  had  to  do 
with  my  intelligence,  and  half  an  hour  later,  slipped 
through  the  blanket-curtain  lugging  the  carcase  of  the 
big  cat.  And  I  questioned  him  as  I  told  how  to  hang 


A  Lynx  Interferes 


it  for  the  job  of  skinning;  could  he  see  the  smoke  from 
our  fire?  No,  the  chimney  flue,  the  hollow  of  the  tree, 
ran  to  a  great  height  and  the  light  wood  made  but  little 
smoke.  Had  he  found  any  indications  of  Gallup  and 
Pardner? 

"  Sure,"  he  replied.  '  They  were  down  at  our  hut 
getting  breakfast." 

"  They  didn't  see  you?  "  I  asked  quickly. 

"  Naw ;  I  couldn't  have  been  seen  with  a  microscope. 
I  was  the  smallest,  hiding-est  thing  in  the  mountains, 
insect,  bird,  snake  or  beast.  But  I  want  to  get  a  good 
squint  at  Pardner,  Ted." 

"Why?" 

"  He  looks  sort  of  familiar  from  a  distance — as 
though  I'd  seen  him  before  somewhere." 

"  Is  he  a  city  man?  " 

"  Naw;  a  hill-billy;  corduroys,  black  shirt,  boots  and  a 
felt  hat.  I'm  probably  mistaken  about  having  ever  seen 
him;  just  a  resemblance.  They  brought  in  some  kind 
of  a  wooden  contrivance  on  those  little  donkeys;  looks 
like  a  mighty  healthy  baby's  crib." 

"A  cradle!  They've  brought  in  a  cradle!"  I  ex 
claimed. 

"  No,  no,  Ted.  I  was  joking.  It  couldn't  be  a  cradle, 
unless  they  have  a  giant  baby  to  stick  into  it.  It  ain't  set 
up  yet,  but  the  parts  of  it  looked  like  a  crib.  That's  all." 

"  But  it  is  a  cradle — a  gold  cradle — a  rocker.  It's  for 
mining,  Lem.  How  big  was  the  bed? " 

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Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  It  was  more  like  a  bed " 

"  The  bed;  the  box  where  the  pay-dirt  is  put  for  the 
washing? " 

"  Oh!  Maybe  half  the  size  of  a  good,  big  wagon-box. 
It  was  pretty  far  away,  you  know." 

This  was  important  news,  and  conclusive  proof  that 
Gallup's  agricultural  claim  was  a  fraud,  his  affidavit  a 
pack  of  lies.  These  men  had  come  here  prepared  not 
for  farming,  but  for  mining;  ready  to  rob  the  creek- 
bottom  of  its  hoarded  gold.  To  prevent  this,  we  must 
act  with  promptness.  A  lynx  had  made  it  impossible 
for  me  to  go  to  Susanville  with  my  application  for  filing; 
but  Lem  could.  I  glanced  at  him  as  he  worked  with  the 
skinning-knife  effectively,  as  he  seemed  to  do  every 
thing,  and  thought  that  he  would  do  better  with  the  trip 
than  I  could  myself.  If  he  could  only  keep  to  the  trail 
— and  then  the  thought  came  that  three  donkeys  had 
solved  that  problem.  I  shot  it  at  once  at  the  back  of 
Lem's  head. 

"  Drop  that  work.  You're  going  to  Susanville  as 
quick  as  you  can  get  started." 

The  knife  fell  with  a  clatter.    He  turned  to  me  with: 

"And  you  chewed  up  to  a  pulp?  What  you  talking, 
Ted? " 

"  Business.  I'm  all  right  for  here,  but  I  can't  ride  a 
horse.  You  can " 

"  You've  never  seen  me  ride."    He  grinned  widely. 

"  Zim's  easy.  The  trail's  wide-open,  now  those  three 

176 


A  Lynx  Interferes 

burros  have  been  over  it.  All  you  have  to  do  is  follow 
back.  You'll  make  our  filing,  enter  our  protest,  and 
buy " 

"  Garden  seeds,"  Lem  finished. 

"  Give  me  a  paper  and  that  pencil.  I'll  write  down 
what  you're  to  buy.  It's  about  seventy  miles  to  Susan- 
ville,  and  you're  going  to  ride  fast  getting  there.  Say 
by  noon  to-morrow — Friday.  Get  our  notices  recorded 
first  thing — at  the  land-office.  Then  rest  up  over  night, 
at  a  hotel.  Better  get  someone  to  pack  Zim  for  you.  It 
has  to  be  done  right,  or  it'll  come  to  pieces  on  the  trail. 
And  you  start  back  Saturday  morning.  Take  it  easy, 
for  Zim  will  be  heavy-loaded.  Three  days  coming  back 
— Saturday,  Sunday,  Monday.  I'll  expect  you  Mon 
day  evening,  and  I'll  probably  be  somewhere  up  the  trail 
waiting  for  you." 

I  was  writing  while  I  talked,  making  the  list  of  things 
to  be  purchased.  Lem  listened,  and  I  saw  was  getting 
it  all  fixed  in  his  mind.  When  I  finished,  he  said : 

"  I'll  make  it,  Ted;  Monday  evening — or  bust!  " 

"  You  make  it  easy  so  as  not  to  bust  either  you  or 
Zim,"  I  enjoined.  "  If  you  don't  get  in  by  nightfall, 
keep  right  on  coming,  for  I'll  be  looking  for  you  all 
night.  Slip  out  now  as  quietly  as  you  can  so  Gallup  and 
Pardner  won't  know.  Good  lucK,  Lem."  I  gave  him 
the  list  and  clasped  his  hand.  He  held  my  paw  a  min 
ute,  looking  down  at  me  as  I  lay  beside  the  fire. 

"  I  just  hate  to  leave  you,  Ted.  But  what  you  say, 

177 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

I  do,"  and  ducked  under  the  curtain.  I  lay  and  listened 
for  a  long  time,  but  I  heard  no  sound  of  either  Lem  or 
Zim.  Silently  they  had  gone,  and  I  was  alone. 


178 


CHAPTER  XVI 

RECONNAISSANCE 

I   WOKE  from  a  refreshing  sleep  to  find  that  it  was 
nearly  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  that  I 
was  feeling  stronger  and  less  a  mere  mess  of  pain 
ful  wounds.    The  balsam,  quick  in  its  healing  action, 
was  getting  results.    I  got  up,  stiffly  enough,  dressed, 
and  ate  rabbit  stew;  then  began  packing.     I  was  going 
to  move. 

Spreading  out  my  blanket,  I  placed  in  it  what  food 
was  left — a  few  cold  biscuits  and  the  remains  of  the 
stew — the  rifle,  revolver  and  all  the  ammunition;  filled 

179 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

the  canteen  from  the  creek  and  added  it;  then  tied  the 
four  corners  together,  hoisted  it  painfully  to  my  un- 
wounded  shoulder,  and  said  farewell  to  the  hollow  red 
wood. 

I  slipped  away  southward  to  the  edge  of  the  canon, 
and  climbed  its  side.  That  took  time,  and  brought  sev 
eral  groans  from  between  my  teeth,  but  finally  I  man 
aged,  and  made  a  detour  toward  the  lake.  I  kept  in  the 
brush  all  I  could,  and  well  back  from  the  valley's  rim. 
When  I  was  forced  to  cross  an  open  space,  I  recon- 
noitered,  then  made  a  dash  for  it. 

Almost  midway  between  my  hut  and  the  dam,  sitting 
close  on  the  cliff's  edge  to  overlook  all  the  lower  part 
of  the  bottom-land,  was  an  enormous  boulder  that  had 
rolled  down  the  mountainside  in  some  past  age,  either 
to  stop  miraculously  there,  or  to  watch,  later  on,  the 
earth  torn  away  at  its  foot.  On  the  side  from  which  I 
approached,  its  top  was  twelve  or  fourteen  feet  from 
the  ground,  but  it  was  five  times  that  height  from  the 
valley  floor.  It  had  split  in  its  fall,  and  there  was  a 
lower  section  separated  from  the  other  by  a  crevice.  On 
the  lower  ledge,  entirely  concealed  from  the  gully  by 
the  taller  half  of  the  boulder,  I  fixed  my  blanket,  hung 
the  canteen  in  the  shaded  cleft,  then  climbed  slowly  and 
painfully  to  the  summit  of  the  other  and  peeked  over 
into  the  canon.  I  needed  to  keep  my  head  down,  for 
Gallup  and  Pardner  were  at  the  dam  not  two  hundred 
yards  away.  As  I  located  them,  Pardner  had  just  torn 

iSo 


Reconnaissance 

my  notice  to  bits,  and  now  with  a  laugh,  he  tossed  the 
bits  in  the  air.  The  baking-powder  can  he  hurled  vi 
ciously  into  the  creek  bed.  The  action  told  me  plainer 
than  words  the  contempt  he  felt  for  me  and  my  rights 
to  the  creek  claim.  Gallup,  down  on  his  knees  before 
the  cairn,  had  evidently  just  taken  can  and  notice  from 
its  place.  Now  Pardner  gave  the  monument  a  kick  that 
sent  the  rocks  tumbling  over  the  bank.  I  hoped  it  hurt 
his  toes! 

Pardner's  loud  talk  was  audible  even  at  the  distance, 
his  words  borne  on  the  wind,  though  I  could  not  hear 
Gallup  at  all.  Pardner  was  big,  uncouth,  with  a  great 
stooped  back,  long  arms,  enormous  hands  at  the  ends  of 
them,  and  a  red  face  topped  by  hair  almost  as  red.  I 
could  not  make  out  his  features  clearly,  but  I  was  sure 
I  had  never  seen  him  before. 

They  had  brought  up  the  cradle,  knocked  down  for 
conveyance  on  the  burros,  and  were  at  work  setting  it 
in  place  below  my  ditch.  Gallup  seemed  to  have  no  idea 
of  its  construction,  but  Pardner  knew,  and  was  more 
inclined  to  boss  than  to  work,  although  he  made  a  bluff 
at  it  which  might  satisfy  Gallup.  I  learned  quickly  and 
without  effort  that  Pardner  was  lazy  and  hated  work; 
and  that  Gallup  was  willing  but  ignorant. 

I  watched  them,  while  I  fried  on  the  boulder.  Two 
rifles  leaned  against  a  rock  close  to  the  cradle.  At  in 
tervals,  one  or  the  other  of  the  men,  usually  Pardner, 
would  stop  work,  pick  up  a  rifle,  climb  to  a  better  posi- 

181 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

tion,  and  make  a  long,  deliberate  survey  of  all  the  coun 
try  above  and  below  the  dam.  I'd  keep  my  head  down 
against  the  stone  these  times,  raising  it  only  when  I  heard 
his  voice  again  after  he'd  returned  to  Gallup. 

It  was  still  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  I  was  watching 
them  bolt  the  bed  on  to  the  supports,  when  suddenly 
there  came  a  sharp  snap  from  the  thicket  a  little  dis 
tance  above  them.  I  heard  it  plainly,  and  it  must  have 
been  much  louder  at  the  creek.  Both  men  jumped  and 
grasped  their  rifles,  but  Pardner  never  stopped  an  in 
stant  after  getting  hands  on  his ;  he  slid  behind  the  bank, 
and  I  saw  the  quick  movement  of  his  hand  as  it  worked 
the  loading  lever,  even  as  he  wormed  into  the  scrub. 
Gallup,  mouth  hanging  open,  rifle  at  a  ready,  stared  at 
the  place  where  the  sound  had  been. 

I  had  guessed  at  once  what  the  noise  was;  one  of  my 
twitch-ups  had  been  sprung,  the  sapling  snapping  back, 
and  there  was  probably  a  venturesome  rabbit  swaying 
now  at  the  end  of  the  line.  I  smiled  at  the  unimportant 
cause  of  so  much  fright,  and  wondered  if  Lem  and  I 
were  held  as  dangerous  enemies  by  these  men.  Anyhow, 
I  was  glad  that  neither  Lem  nor  I  walked  out  of  that 
thicket,  for  I  was  certain  whoever  did  would  be  met  by 
bullets. 

There  was  no  repetition  of  the  sound — naturally;  and 
of  course,  nothing  came  from  the  brush.  After  maybe 
fifteen  minutes'  waiting,  Pardner  crawled  from  his  hid 
ing  place,  joined  Gallup,  and  they  talked  together;  then 

182 


Reconnaissance 

started  for  the  thicket  to  investigate  the  cause  of  the 
alarm.  I  was  afraid  they  would  find  trap,  bunnie  and 
explanation,  but  they  only  skirted  its  edge,  peering  in, 
and  continued  up  the  bottom,  searching  the  fringing 
woods  of  the  creek. 

I  watched  them  out  of  sight,  then  made  a  shift  of 
position.  There  was  but  one  conclusion  to  draw  from 
what  I  had  seen;  if  found,  I  was  in  danger  of  my  life. 
Pardner  was  a  desperate  man,  with  some  better  reason 
for  objecting  to  spies  than  his  seizure  of  the  claim.  He 
was  hiding  from  a  greater  menace  than  Lem  and  me. 
I  threw  the  blanket  and  contents  into  the  crevice  be 
tween  the  boulders,  gave  the  place  a  careful  inspection 
for  rattlesnakes,  then  with  grunts  and  groans  lowered 
myself  into  the  cleft.  Here  was  hiding  place  and  for 
tress.  From  the  opening  at  one  end,  with  a  little  careful 
trimming  of  the  bushes,  I  could  see  what  was  going  on 
below,  myself  screened  by  foliage.  The  other  end  of  the 
split  was  choked  by  stones.  There  was  room  to  lie  down 
in  a  rather  cramped  position.  And  it  was  gloriously 
cool ! 

I  heard  Pardner's  loud  voice  before  I  could  see  the 
men,  as  they  returned,  and  I  knew  a  noisy  argument 
was  on,  for  stray  words  came  to  me;  Pardner  insisting 
that  it  was  foolishness  to  bother  about  us,  saying  we'd 
probably  not  stopped  running  till  we  got  to  Jamesville. 
"  Scared  stiff,"  I  heard  him  shout,  and  wondered  if  we'd 
been  any  worse  scared  than  he  was  at  a  rabbit  trap. 

183 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

Gallup,  I  could  tell  from  the  part  that  was  audible^ 
wanted  to  make  sure;  follow  back  our  trail  aways  and 
see  that  we  hadn't  turned  back;  and  I  was  certainly 
glad  of  Lem's  device  for  deceiving  them,  for  Gallup 
started  out  on  our  tracks. 

Pardner,  loudly  telling  Gallup  how  many  kinds  of  a 
fool  he  was,  went  back  to  the  cradle;  but  not  to  work. 
After  looking  it  over  a  few  minutes,  he  loaded  a  pipe 
and  sat  down  in  the  shade  beside  the  creek,  to  rest  and 
smoke  until  Gallup's  return.  Even  then,  he  never  re 
laxed,  and  I  could  see  his  head  turn  continually  to  look 
into  the  thickets.  The  rifle  lay  across  his  knees.  Pard 
ner  may  not  have  been  afraid  of  Lem  and  me,  but  he 
was  afraid,  frightfully  afraid,  of  something  or  someone 
else. 

It  was  late  afternoon  when  Gallup  came  back,  and  I 
gathered  from  Pardner's  mirth  and  sarcasms  that  the 
small  man  with  the  thin  voice  had  followed  our  trail 
farther  than  we  had  gone.  He  was  satisfied  we  had  not 
retraced  our  steps,  and  without  finishing  the  cradle,  they 
went  down  to  the  hut  and  their  supper. 

The  low  slanting  sun  had  lost  its  sting,  and  I  was 
glad  to  haul  myself  up  from  the  crevice,  and  roll  up  in 
my  blanket  on  the  ledge.  In  the  interest  of  watching, 
I  had  forgotten  at  times  the  pain  of  the  wounds,  but 
now  they  began  to  trouble,  and  I  used  what  water  I  had 
to  dampen  the  bandages.  I  had  been  badly  hurt,  and 
the  exertions  of  the  day  gave  little  chance  for  healing. 

184 


Reconnaissance 

As  night  came  down,  a  fever  set  in,  and  I  began  a  rest 
less  tossing  on  the  hard  rock.  Things  seen  assumed 
strange  shapes,  shadows  came  and  went,  grew  to  enor 
mous  size;  and  the  familiar  noises  of  the  night  were 
changed  and  magnified.  Alternately,  I  burned  and 
shivered ;  and  my  confused  mind  in  its  delirium  gathered 
the  strands  of  my  wrongs  and  twisted  them  into  a  rope 
of  anger  and  hatred  against  the  cradle  beside  the  stream. 
In  that  inanimate  object,  the  mounting  fever  centered 
all  my  enmity. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  it  stood  there,  a  hateful  live  thing, 
reaching  out  to  grab  the  gold  that  was  mine  from  the 
mud  of  the  creek,  stealing  it  from  me,  robbing  me  of 
everything.  And  I  must  kill  it,  break  it,  demolish  it. 
I  climbed  down  from  the  rock  in  the  blackness  of  night, 
my  stiffened  leg  and  arm  protesting  with  twinges  of 
pain,  ran  staggering  and  falling  down  the  hill,  and 
splashed  across  the  creek  without  the  least  attempt  at 
secrecy.  With  fists  and  boots,  I  attacked  the  cradle  as 
though  it  were  alive,  knocking  it  over,  kicking  it,  bruis 
ing  my  knuckles  and  opening  the  old  wounds  to  bleed 
again.  I  wanted  to  destroy,  demolish;  and  I  did  not 
care  whether  I  was  heard  or  seen,  and  the  consequences 
of  my  acts  were  nothing  to  me. 

The  rocker  would  have  resisted  all  my  efforts  to  break 
it,  for  it  was  stoutly  built,  had  I  not  stumbled  over  the 
stones  of  my  cairn,  and  the  idea  of  a  weapon  worked 
through  the  haze  of  my  mind.  I  picked  up  a  great  piece 

185 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

of  granite,  hammered  the  box  of  the  rocker  into 
ters,  and  broke  the  standards  to  bits.  It  was  kindling 
when  my  fevered  rage  was  satisfied,  and  I  had  made 
noise  enough  to  awake  the  Seven  Sleepers.  I  remember 
hearing  shouts,  even  rifle  shots,  I'm  sure;  but  I  went 
calmly  back  to  the  rock,  climbed  to  its  ledge,  and  wrap 
ping  the  dry  blanket  about  my  soaked  body,  dropped 
into  quiet  slumber,  while  two  men  searched  high  and 
low  for  me. 

Many  hours  later,  much  refreshed,  I  woke  to  a  bright 
morning,  and  the  sound  of  voices  close  beneath  me.  The 
fever  was  entirely  gone,  and  I  had  sense  enough  to  lie 
absolutely  quiet.  Gallup  and  Pardner  were  under  the 
rock,  and  they  were  talking  of  me — of  Lem  and  me. 

"  Probably  hiding  way  up  the  canon — in  the  brush  at 
the  headwaters,"  came  Gallup's  thin,  quivering  voice. 
And  Pardner,  with  a  curse  inclusive  of  Lem,  Gallup  and 
me,  boomed: 

"  There's  a  thousand  places  to  hide  in  the  gullies  and 
hills.  If  it  was  two  months  later,  with  the  chaparral 
dry,  I'd  start  a  fire  ripping  up  the  canon  that  would 
drive  'em  out,  I'll  warrant — or  burn  'em  to  cinders." 
A  grunt  from  Gallup ;  and  Pardner  went  on,  "  We've 
got  to  find  'em,  that's  all ;  and  fix  'em.  Should  have  done 
it  first  off,  but  you  had  to  try  your  legal  bluff.  Next 
time,  you'll  take  my  advice,  p'raps." 

"  No  use  kicking  now,"  Gallup  answered.  "  Let's 
get  breakfast." 

1 86 


Reconnaissance 

?<  You,  with  your  slick  lawyer-games !  Give  'em  back 
their  hoss,  hand  'em  their  guns  and  grub;  pass  'em 
everything  to  make  'em  dangerous,  and  able  to  hang 
around  and  pester.  That's  your  way."  Pardner  was 
peeved  for  lack  of  sleep. 

"  Oh,  shut  up ! "  Gallup's  voice  went  up  another 
octave.  "  We'll  eat,  then  we'll  find  'em,  and  you  can 
have  your  way  with  'em.  Only  I  don't  see  it,  mark  that! 
I  keep  my  hands  clean  of  such  doings." 

"  Come  on,"  grunted  the  other.  "  I'll  do  it,  and  I'll 
do  it  right.  Eat  and  find  'em,"  and  their  voices  died 
out  in  the  direction  of  the  hut. 

My  mind  held  a  hazy,  dream-like  picture  of  the  events 
of  the  night,  enough  so  that  I  understood  the  anger  of 
the  men  and  had  a  realization  of  that  which  I  had  started 
by  my  fevered  actions.  There  was  no  question  of  what 
would  befall  Lem  and  me  if  we  were  discovered  now. 
Pardner's  words  were  significant.  The  disappearance 
of  two  boys  lost  in  the  mountains  would  create  but  a 
passing  interest  in  a  country  where  prospectors  start  out 
frequently  to  fail  of  return.  I  shuddered  as  I  recalled 
the  destruction  of  the  cradle,  and  lifted  my  head  cau 
tiously  to  see  if  it  was  true,  or  a  dream. 

The  rocker  lay  in  ruins  beside  the  creek.  Surely,  in 
my  plans  to  retain  the  claim,  I  had  intended  no  violence 
such  as  this,  no  infraction  of  the  law,  as  this  certainly 
was.  Had  I  retained  control  of  my  actions,  I  should 
have  been  the  last  person  to  take  the  law  into  my  own 

187 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

hands.  Now,  the  fever  had  made  me  an  outlaw.  TKese 
two  men  had  legal  authority  to  hunt  down  the  one  who 
had  come  upon  their  property  and  demolished  machin 
ery  of  value  belonging  to  them.  My  excuse,  that  I  was 
delirious  from  fever,  would  be  hard  to  establish,  even 
supposing  there  was  a  chance  to  make  excuse.  It  was 
a  serious  situation,  a  weighty  responsibility  for  my  boy- 
shoulders.  I  tossed  and  squirmed  there  on  the  rock, 
borne  down  by  the  burden  of  it. 

Then  it  lifted,  cleared  away  as  once  before,  by  the 
simple  solution  that  right  is  right.  I  rolled  over  on  the 
side  that  held  the  fewer  pains,  closed  my  eyes,  and  went 
to  a  long,  health-giving  sleep. 


188 


CHAPTER  XVII 

FAUSTINA 

IF  I'd  spent  a  week  in  careful  search,  I  could  not 
have  found  a  better  hiding-place  than  my  split 
boulder  on  the  rim's  edge.     It  was  so  close  to  the 
hut,  below  the  dam,  that  the  men  overlooked  it  from  the 
first.     It  was  almost  in  their  back-yard,  a  thing  so  usual 
to  the  eye  as  to  be  non-perceivable.     They  came  to  it, 
leaned  against  it  to  talk,  passed  it,  but  they  never  really 
saw  it;  and  not  once  in  those  two  days  I  stayed  there, 
resting  up,  letting  my  wounds  heal,  was  I  in  danger. 
But  its  very  security  gave  me  many  anxious  minutes* 

189 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

Gallup  and  Pardner,  standing  so  near  me  I  could  have 
dropped  a  piece  of  granite  to  break  their  heads,  would 
discuss  possible  places  for  Lem  and  me  to  be  hiding, 
planned  ways  to  trap  us,  and  promised  vague  horrors 
when  we  were  found.  My  heart  would  hammer  so  nois 
ily  at  times  I  feared  they  would  hear  it. 

The  first  day  after  I'd  smashed  the  cradle — Saturday 
— they  spent  most  of  its  hours  in  the  search;  but  Sunday 
Gallup  hunted  alone;  Pardner  had  tired;  and  the  little 
man  discovered  Zim's  tracks  where  Lem  had  led  the 
horse  up  the  canon's  side,  and  followed  the  trail  far 
enough  to  believe  we  had  gone  on  to  Susanville.  He 
returned  about  noon  with  that  information,  and  the  two 
men  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  building  sluices  from  my 
lumber.  They  had  decided  to  mine,  as  had  been  my  in 
tention,  by  running  the  pay-dirt  over  riffles  to  separate 
its  contents ;  and  they  had  nails.  Peering  over  the  boul 
der's  top,  I  saw  them  use  my  split  planks  to  build  the 
machinery  to  steal  my  gold. 

I  must  get  away  during  the  night.  Lem,  who  would 
be  returning  in  the  afternoon  or  evening  of  the  next  day, 
must  be  met  and  warned;  also  I  was  hungry  and  thirsty, 
without  food  or  water.  I  could  slip  quietly  away  after 
dark  and  go  far  along  the  trail  over  which  Lem  must 
come. 

That  would  be  the  safe  and  easy  way;  that  was  what  I 
wanted  to  do;  but  as  I  watched  the  men  complete  the 
sluices  and  set  them  in  the  ditch  I  had  dug  with  so  much 

190 


THE  TWO  MEN  SPENT  THE  REST  OF  THE  DAY  BUILDING  SLUICES. 


Faustina 

labor  for  that  purpose,  as  I  realized  that  all  day  while  I 
was  traveling  the  trail  to  meet  Lem  they  would  be  run 
ning  my  creek  sands  over  those  riffles,  robbing  me,  I 
changed  easy  plans  for  hard,  a  safe  program  for  a  dan 
gerous  one. 

In  the  crevice,  working  noiselessly  that  afternoon,  I 
made  a  neat  pack  of  my  belongings  to  lug  at  my  back, 
and  I  cleaned,  oiled  and  reloaded  the  rifle ;  then  snugged 
down  in  the  cleft,  curling  about  its  corners,  and  forgot 
thirst  and  hunger  in  sleep.  So,  alternating  slumber  and 
waking  hours  of  weary  waiting,  the  day  wore  out. 

Pardner,  I  was  sure,  would  meet  night  with  snores, 
for  he  had  worked  hard  for  him;  but  I  was  afraid  of 
Gallup.  That  nervousness,  which  was  his  most  obvious 
characteristic,  did  not  promise  the  deep  sleep  that  would 
make  my  plans  less  dangerous.  I  was  going  to  be  noisy ; 
I  expected  to  wake  people  up,  but  I  didn't  want  them 
awake  too  soon.  I  was  willing  they  should  rest  till  the 
big  noise  came. 

So  I  waited  hour  after  hour  in  the  night,  so  thirsty 
that  the  gurgling  of  creek  waters  passed  from  an  irrita 
tion  to  a  misery,  and  went  over  and  over  my  plans. 
Then  as  my  watch  hands  came  together  at  the  top  of  the 
dial — I  had  unscrewed  the  crystal  so  I  might  feel  the 
time — telling  me  it  was  midnight,  I  slung  the  pack  on 
my  back,  threw  the  rolled  blanket  over  one  shoulder, 
climbed  carefully  down  the  bank  to  the  flat  beside  the 
creek,  and  worked  my  way  up  to  the  dam.  I  could  hear 

191 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

the  stream  singing  across  the  riffles  of  the  sluices,  see 
vague  outlines  of  the  boxes  themselves  where  they  raised 
their  red  sides  above  the  ditch  banks,  but  they  were  not 
my  objective.  The  planks  were  too  heavy  and  strong 
to  be  smashed  as  I  had  the  rocker.  I  intended  to  destroy 
its  usefulness,  not  the  box ;  make  the  sluice  a  dry  ditch. 

I  laid  off  blanket  and  pack  on  the  bank's  edge,  close 
to  the  dam ;  set  the  rifle  against  them ;  hunted  cautiously 
about  till  I  found  a  stout  sapling  that  I  had  cut  for  use 
as  a  pry  while  dam  building;  took  it,  and  waded  into  the 
pool  directly  above  the  dam.  The  water,  icy  cold,  came 
up  almost  to  my  arm-pits ;  I  bent  my  head  to  drink  deep 
and  long;  then,  with  the  sapling  for  a  lever,  a  rock  in  the 
pool  for  a  fulcrum,  I  snubbed  in  close  to  the  bottom  of 
the  stonework,  and  laid  the  weight  of  my  body  and  all  the 
force  of  my  muscles  against  the  long  end,  forcing  down 
with  short,  sharp  jerks.  The  water  stored  behind  the 
dam  was  working  with  me;  its  pressure  seconded  my 
efforts,  but  it  did  not  have  the  same  regard  for  silence 
that  made  me  work  so  cautiously.  As  I  loosened  the 
mass  of  rock  and  dirt,  the  current  started  some  of  the 
uppermost  stones  rolling  noisily  into  the  dry  channel. 
It  was  enough  to  bring  Gallup  from  the  hut.  I  heard 
him  shout  a  warning  to  Pardner,  saw  lights  spring  up 
down  there,  and  I  forced  the  lever  in  for  a  firmer  hold, 
caught  its  extreme  end  with  both  hands,  and  swung  my 
weight  on  it.  There  was  a  moment  of  suspense,  then  a 
great  crash  and  the  roar  of  liberated  waters,  hurling 

192 


Faustina 

rocks,  flying  chunKs  of  granite,  as  I  sat  abruptly  in 
water  that  covered  my  head.  The  dam  was  down. 

I  had  no  time  to  celebrate  success.  I  floundered 
ashore  just  as  a  shot  came  from  below  to  hit  a  rock  and 
ricochet  with  a  dismal  whine  over  me.  Slipping  on 
pack  and  blanket,  I  grabbed  the  rifle,  took  to  the  water, 
and  ran  up-stream.  More  bullets  and  shouts  from  the 
men  spurred  me;  wild  shots  that  spatted  into  the  bank, 
or  sizzled  through  the  thick  foliage  of  the  chaparral. 
Turning  my  head,  I  saw  they  were  running  with  torches, 
and  I  made  a  quick  dodge  to  the  right,  scrambled  up  the 
creek  bank,  dropped  flat  on  my  stomach  at  its  top,  and 
cocked  the  rifle. 

I  was  too  shaken  by  nerves  and  the  hard  run  to  aim. 
For  a  minute  or  two  I  lay  there  panting.  The  men  had 
stopped  at  the  dam,  and  were  talking  excitedly  as  they 
brandished  torches  over  the  destruction  I  had  done. 
Pardner  was  cursing  Gallup,  Lem  and  me  with  impar 
tiality.  Lifting  the  rifle  to  my  shoulder  with  hands  that 
had  stopped  their  trembling,  I  aimed  at  the  torch-lit 
rock  over  Pardner's  head  and  sent  three  bullets  to  spat 
ter  him  with  granite  chips.  Instantly  the  blazing  light- 
wood  was  thrown  into  the  water.  All  was  dark.  Fear 
ing  they  might  have  seen  the  flashes  of  my  rifle,  I  rolled 
away  to  tHe  right  a  dozen  feet  as  soon  as  I  fired;  but 
there  was  no  answer.  Whether  they  caught  the  warn 
ing  I  intended  to  give,  or  were  too  astonished  at  my  ac 
ceptance  of  the  gauge  of  battle  to  reply,  I  heard  or  saw 

193 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

nothing  more  of  them ;  and  after  a  wait  of  so  long  a  time 
that  I  was  chilled  and  shivering,  I  went  cautiously  up 
the  gully,  through  the  redwoods,  and  started  over  the 
trail  Lem  and  Zim  had  followed  down  the  lake  to  the 
narrow  way  over  the  hills  to  Susanville.  Many  miles  I 
put  behind  me,  one  quite  lofty  ridge  I  wedged  between 
me  and  the  claim-jumpers  of  Eagle  Lake,  before  I 
made  camp,  built  me  a  fire,  drank  from  the  canteen, 
rolled  in  the  blanket,  and  forgot  hunger  in  sleep. 

A  bob-white,  sitting  on  a  manzanita  root,  whistling 
its  mating  call,  woke  me  to  bright  sunlight  and  the 
intense  relief  of  freedom  and  safety.  For  three  days  I 
had  been  practically  a  prisoner;  for  two  of  those  three, 
had  been  in  constant  danger  of  my  life.  I  threw  aside 
the  blanket  and  leaped  to  my  feet,  forgetting  scratches, 
bruises,  hunger,  in  the  joy  of  being  far  away  from  the 
menace  of  the  valley.  Bob-white,  a  perfectly  good 
breakfast,  gave  a  sharp  warning  call,  and  a  covey  of  his 
mates  on  the  ground  whirred  off  on  swift-beating  wings. 
I  had  forgotten  quails  were  food. 

I  built  up  a  great  fire,  for  J  was  still  damp  and  cold 
from  the  sleep  in  wet  clothes,  hung  up  the  blanket  to 
dry,  set  the  coffee-pot  on,  took  the  revolver,  which  I  had 
never  given  over  as  hopeless,  and  started  out  after  the 
quail.  I  had  marked  them  down  in  a  little  open  place  at 
the  edge  of  the  mesquite.  As  I  came  carefully  up  to  it, 
I  heard  the  birds  calling.  Bending  low,  moving  slowly 
forward,  I  peered  through  the  growth  of  sage  and  lu- 

194 


Faustina 

pine,  trying  to  make  out  from  their  whistling  where  they 
were  located.  Gray  and  brown,  they  merged  so  per 
fectly  with  the  shades  of  the  ground  as  to  be  almost  in 
distinguishable,  but  finally  a  waving  little  black  plume 
caught  my  eye,  and  with  this  bird  found,  the  others  were 
easy.  More  than  a  dozen  I  picked  up  with  my  eye, 
scattered  in  pairs  over  the  small  patch,  cocks  and  hens  in 
almost  equal  numbers. 

I  waited,  as  quiet  as  any  rock  on  the  hillside,  and  soon 
they  began  feeding,  running  about  to  mingle  in  groups ; 
and  their  calling  stilled.  I  raised  the  pistol,  training  its 
sights  on  a  large  cock,  but  waited,  following  the  bird's 
every  movement  with  the  muzzle  of  the  gun.  As  I  ex 
pected,  he  soon  was  joined  by  a  closely-bunched  group 
of  six,  and  I  fired  at  once.  The  report  sent  the  covey 
flying,  with  a  second  shot  from  my  pistol  to  hurry  them ; 
but  four  of  their  number,  the  cock  I  had  aimed  at,  and 
three  birds  too  closely  around  him  to  be  missed,  were 
little  plump,  round  bunches  of  flesh  and  feathers  on  the 
ground.  My  ancient  firearm  had  earned  its  passage. 

That  would  be  breakfast  and  dinner.  I  carried  the 
game  back  to  camp,  placed  an  old  strip  of  bacon-rind  in 
the  skillet  for  frying  grease,  and  was  soon  picking  the 
bones  of  sage-fed  quail,  as  delicious  food  as  anyone  ever 
eats;  with  good,  strong,  black  coffee,  drunk  from  the 
nose  of  the  pot.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  neyer  could  re 
member  a  happier  meal;  the  good  flesh  well  cooked  and 
seasoned;  the  hot  drink;  the  long  hunger;  the  relief  from 

195 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

fear;  the  hope  of  Lem  with  me  again  before  the  day's 
end.  The  mounting  sun,  growing  stronger  each  hour  it 
climbed,  had  dried  my  clothes  and  warmed  my  bones. 
I  felt  like  a  brand-new  boy! 

Two  of  those  birds  I  ate,  one  after  the  other;  the  first 
rapidly,  ravenously;  the  second  more  and  more  slowly 
and  satisfactorily;  big,  fat,  juicy  quail.  I  even  pulled 
a  leg  from  a  third,  but  I  had  lost  enthusiasm  for  food. 
I  had  filled  up  the  cavity  of  two  days'  abstinence  from  all 
things  eatable,  and  was  ready  for  whatever  might  come. 
Brave?  I  could  have  faced  Gallup  and  Pardner  right 
then,  and  quite  likely  my  voice  wouldn't  have  quavered 
hardly  at  all ! 

But  I  was  going  ahead,  not  back;  farther  on  toward 
Susanville.  I  wanted  to  find  a  stream  beside  the  trail 
to  wait  for  Lem's  coming  at  nightfall.  I  packed  the  re 
maining  birds  with  my  kit,  rolled  the  dry  blanket,  and 
started  on.  A  stream  was  not  far  to  seek.  Before  I 
had  trudged  a  mile,  I  saw  ahead  the  fringing  woods  of 
a  watercourse,  and  I  hurried  toward  its  now  grateful 
shade. 

I  was  in  the  sycamores  and  tan-oak  that  lined  the 
creek,  when  I  heard  the  strangest  animal-call  that  I'd 
ever  heard  in  the  wilderness.  "Ma-a-a-a!"  A  long 
bleat  came  to  me  from  out  the  scrub  in  front. 

I  dropped  flat,  pack,  blanket  and  all ;  squirmed  side- 
wise  into  the  undergrowth;  cocked  the  rifle  and  poked  its 
muzzle  out  before  me.  Then  I  waited.  "  Ma-a-a-a! " 

196 


Faustina 

"  Can  that  bleat,  Faustina."  It  was  Lem's  voice  in 
an  imperative  command. 

With  a  wild  shout,  I  came  to  my  feet  and  ran  for  the 
creek,  at  each  step  shouting,  regardless  of  grammar, 
"  Lem!  It's  me!  It's  me,  Lem;  it's  me!  " 

In  the  creek,  drinking  and  pawing,  pack  on  back,  was 
Zim ;  behind  him,  a  rope  from  Zim's  tail  connecting  with 
its  horns,  was  a  goat;  and  on  that  goat's  back  was  a 
pack;  and  Lem  Strong  stood  on  the  shore,  mouth  hang 
ing  open,  eyes  wide,  and  held  Zim's  halter  rope;  and 
Lem  also  had  a  pack  on  his  back.  For  a  moment  he 
stood  speechless,  then  we  collided  in  a  joyful  embrace. 


197 


B 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

BATTLE  PLANS 

UT  what  is  the  goat  for,  Lem? "  I  voiced  my 
wonderment,  when  the  first  swift  inquiries  as 
to  my  wounds  and  Lem's  errands  had  been  an 
swered,  and  I  had  helped  remove  the  burdens  from 
Lem's  shoulders,  and  the  backs  of  Zim  and  Faustina. 
"  Why  have  you  brought  a  goat?  " 

"  On  your  list."     Lem's  raised  brows  showed  surprise 
at  my  question. 

"  A  goat  on  my  list?     Never  once,  Lem." 
"  Milk.     You  had  milk  on  the  list."     He  was  feeling 

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Battle  Plans 

in  his  pockets  to  find  the  paper  and  prove  his  authority 
for  purchase.  "  I  couldn't  bring  a  cow,  so  I  did  the 
next  best.  Faustina  is  milk." 

I  roared  with  laughter,  rolled  over  and  over  on  the 
creek  bank  in  glee,  nearly  went  over  its  edge  into  the 
drink.  And  I  stuttered,  through  tears  of  merriment: 

"Lem — oh,  Lem!  Canned  milkl  I  wanted — ex 
pected  you  to  get  canned  milk!  " 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  it  then?  How  should  I  know 
milk  comes  in  cans?  When  I  was  keeping  house  at  the 
foot  of  Telegraph  Hill  in  San  Francisco,  the  Italians 
nearly  all  had  goats  that  they  milked.  I  learned  how. 
Besides,  Faustina  is  canned  milk.  She  was  eating  a  tin 
can  when  I  bought  her;  and  she's  a  perpetual  tin  can." 
Lem's  indignation  at  my  mirth  was  wearing  off,  and  a 
grin  had  come  to  light  up  his  face.  "  Besides,  Faustina 
will  look  well  on  the  farm;  and  she's  not  so  worse  as  a 
packhorse,  when  it  comes  to  that."  He  plumped  down 
on  the  bank  beside  me. 

I  had  seen  that  the  goat  carried  a  pack;  also  Lem. 
Now  I  asked  about  them,  and  in  his  reply  I  found  how 
it  was  that  he  had  gained  eight  hours  on  the  schedule, 
was  meeting  me  in  the  morning  instead  of  the  night. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  I  got  to  Susanville  just  as  we 
planned,  at  noon  Friday,  but  Zim  wasn't  so  tired  as  we 
expected,  because  I  had  run  beside  him  a  good  bit  of  the 
way  to  rest  myself.  I  took  him  to  a  livery  stable  and 
had  them  look  after  him  right ;  rub  him  down,  oil  him  up, 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

and  feed  him  all  he  could  eat;  while  I  went  out  and  did 
the  errands.  I  filed  your  claim," — he  dug  out  the  re 
corded  petition  and  receipt  for  fees — "  entered  the  pro 
test,  and  got  the  land-office  man  to  promise  a  ranger  in 
to  look  us  over  the  last  of  next  week." 

"  So  far  ahead? "  It  would  be  a  delay  of  ten  or 
twelve  days. 

"  The  best  he  could  do.  The  ranger  is  up  north  on  the 
Reserve,  letting  in  sheep  on  the  Government  pastures, 
and  won't  be  back  to  Susanville  until  the  middle  of  next 
week.  But  your  filing  is  all  right,  Ted;  the  land-office 
man  said  there  wrasn't  one  chance  in  a  hundred  the  Gov 
ernment  would  open  the  lakeside  to  farm  settlement; 
he  said  it  was  far  too  valuable  as  a  water-shed." 

"  How  about  mining?  "  I  asked  anxiously. 

"  Mining  is  different.  Mining  doesn't  interfere,  he 
said.  They'll  patent  mineral  claims,  whatever  that 
is " 

"  Give  title  to  them;  the  Government  will  grant  own 
ership." 

"  Well,  they'll  give  ownership  to  mines  but  not  to 
farms.  Just  the  same  I  bought  the  garden  seeds,"  he 
pulled  a  handful  of  the  little  envelopes  with  their  gaily- 
colored  covers  from  his  pocket,  and  ranged  them  on  the 
grass  before  him.  "  Lettuce — look  at  the  size  of  it, 
Ted !  Some  salad  that !  And  round  radishes,  and  long 
radishes.  Artichokes,  too  —  with  mayonnaise,  yum, 


yum!" 


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Battle  Plans 

"  Did  the  land-office  know  Gallup  or  Pardner? "  I 
said,  after  admiring  the  lithographs. 

"  He  knew  James  Goober  Gallup.  He's  a  peanut 
lawyer  living  near  town  there.  A  shyster  with  nary  a 
client.  I  learned  by  asking  around  here  and  there, 
quietly,  that  Goober  Gallup  had  a  visitor  last  Monday 
night  who  rode  into  town  on  a  bay  horse " 

"Zim!     Pardner!" 

"  So  I  guessed,  first  guess.  He  came  and  went  by 
night.  But  next  day — Tuesday — Gallup  filed  that 
homestead  petition,  and  began  getting  an  outfit  to 
gether.  Wednesday  morning,  he  and  three  donkeys 
left  town.  Is  he  mining  your  claim  yet,  Ted?  " 

"  He's  not!  He's  probably  rebuilding  the  dam,"  and 
I  told  Lem  what  had  taken  place  in  his  absence,  how  I 
had  smashed  both  cradle  and  dam,  Lem  applauding  with 
chuckles  of  glee. 

"  Bully !  "  he  cried  when  I  finished.  "  That's  the  way 
to  keep  them  from  robbing  you.  But,  Ted,  you've  not 
asked  where  I  found  Faustina." 

"  The  goat?    You  bought  her,  of  course." 

"  Yes,  but  I'll  give  you  a  dozen  guesses  who  I  bought 
her  of.  It  was  Mrs.  Gallup  who  owned  her." 

"Mrs.  Gallup?"  I  echoed,  vaguely  worried.  "Is 
Gallup  married? " 

"  Yep.  And  she  keeps  goats.  She  supports  Gallup, 
too,  when  he  isn't  stealing  mines.  She's  a  real  nice  lady, 
and  her  kids  are  nice,  too." 

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Black  Boulder  Claim 

"Goat  kids?"  I  was  getting  more  worried  with 
every  word  Lem  spoke. 

"  Human  kids.  Boy  and  girl,  seven  and  five.  Cuties, 
both  of  'em,  curly  hair,  big  eyes.  They  think  their 
daddy  is  fine.  Maybe  Mrs.  G.  has  doubts,  but  those 
kids  haven't  a  one.  They're  why  I  started  back  Satur 
day  night  instead  of  waiting  for  Sunday  morning." 

I  had  reached  out  and  pulled  a  weed,  which  I  tore  into 
bits,  scowling  all  the  while,  as  I  studied  the  problem  of 
Gallup  with  a  wife  and  two  little  kids.  Lem  went  on 
talking,  not  looking  at  me. 

"  I  knew  you'd  want  to  know  that  just  as  soon  as  you 
could.  It  makes  a  difference,  doesn't  it? " 

"  It  does.     Of  course  it  does,  Lem." 

"  And  we  won't  shoot  Gallup? " 

I  leaped  to  my  feet.  "  Not  for  a  hundred  claims! 
We'll  give  up  and  get  out  first!  " 

"  Sit  down,  Ted.  We're  not  going  to  give  up  your 
claim." 

"  Our  claim.     It's  yours  as  much  as  mine." 

"  Our  claim,  then;  not  to  anybody.  We're  going  to 
hold  it.  And  we're  going  to  send  the  human  peanut 
back  to  his  family,  sound,  whole,  and  not  a  dirty  thief! 
Shall  we,  Ted? " 

I  gave  him  my  hand  on  it,  sank  down  again  beside 
him,  and  asked: 

"  Why  did  you  split  the  pack  into  three?  Zim  could 
have  carried  it  all." 

202 


Battle  Plans 

"  Zim  had  traveled  seventy  miles,  and  I  was  starting 
back  before  he'd  rested  enough;  so  I  cut  his  pack  down 
to  a  hundred  pounds,  gave  Faustina  twenty-five,  and  I 
took  fifty.  That  seemed  fair  enough,  and  Zim  never 
made  a  kick  all  the  way.  Faustina  has  objected,  but 
we've  traveled  six  hours  and  rested  two,  with  all  packs 
off  at  the  rests;  and  Faustina  and  I  slept  quite  a 
lot." 

"  It's  a  wonder  you  aren't  dead,  lugging  fifty  pounds 
all  this  way.  And  Faustina,  if  she  never  sheds  a  drop 
of  milk,  has  earned  her  room  and  board." 

Lem's  eyes  went  to  where  the  goat  was  nibbling  grass 
in  a  circle  at  the  end  of  her  tether.  "  She's  a  good  goat, 
except  for  her  voice.  If  she  *  Ma-a-a-a-a-s '  all  the 
time  in  the  valley,  Gallup  and  Pardner  will  soon  be 
eating  goat  flesh.  What'll  we  do  with  the  nanny, 
Ted?" 

"  That'll  be  all  right.  I've  a  plan  that  I  want  to  talk 
over  after  dinner.  I  suppose  you're  hungry?  " 

"Always.  I've  had  plenty  to  eat,  but  all  cold  snacks, 
and  no  coffee.  Suppose  we  have  coffee? " 

"  Lie  still,  while  I  build  a  fire."  I  pressed  him  back 
into  the  grass,  and  started  a  hot  dinner,  with  the  two 
quail  warmed  over  for  him.  There  was  plenty  of  food 
in  the  packs,  and  extra  plates,  cups  and  utensils.  It 
was  while  we  were  eating  that  Lem  remembered  some 
information  he'd  picked  up,  not  important  to  his  mind, 
but  decidedly  so  in  mine.  Wayne,  the  Jamesville  hotel 

203 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

man,  had  been  in  the  Susanville  land-office  about  a 
month  before,  looking  up  my  title  to  the  Black  Boulder 
claim. 

The  time  must  have  been  shortly  before  my  return 
from  the  clean-up,  and  Wayne's  offer  to  buy  the  work 
ings.  The  hotel  man  had  made  a  long  trip  to  find  out 
whether  I  had  complied  with  the  law  in  every  respect  to 
hold  the  claim.  I  knew  I  had  done  the  assessment  work 
regularly  and  properly,  and  had  filed  my  proofs.  Evi 
dently,  Wayne  found  out  the  same  thing,  for  he  had 
subsequently  tried  to  purchase  from  me.  But  what  was 
his  interest  in  the  Black  Boulder?  Why  would  he  travel 
a  couple  of  hundred  miles  on  horseback  to  satisfy  him 
self  that  I  had  neglected  nothing  required  by  law? 
What  did  he  see  of  value  in  the  gravel  claim  on  Baldy 
that  I  didn't  and  couldn't  see? 

I  had  to  give  it  up.  I  put  it  out  of  mind,  and  turned 
to  the  more  immediate  proposition  of  the  Hot  Biscuit 
claim.  I  laid  that  matter  before  Lem  as  he  stowed  quail 
away  and  drank  coffee  with  sugar  in  the  cup. 

"All  we've  got  to  do,"  I  began,  "  is  to  keep  Gallup 
and  Pardner  from  mining  the  creek  bottom  until  the 
forest  ranger  comes  in.  I'd  hoped  he  could  get  here 
quicker,  but  we  can  stick  it  out  ten  days.  Gallup  and 
Pardner  will  get  that  dam  rebuilt  as  soon  as  they  can, 
and  start  the  sluices.  My  job  is  to  make  it  unhealthy 
at  the  sluices.  That's  why  you  lugged  all  those  rifle 
cartridges,  Lem." 

204 


Battle  Plans 

"  I  wanted  to  buy  another  rifle,  but  it  wasn't  on  the 
list." 

"  No;  and  I  didn't  want  you  to  have  one.  I'm  pretty 
sure  when  I  pull  the  trigger  just  where  the  bullet's  go 
ing.  You  wouldn't  be " 

"  I'd  know  it  wasn't  going  where  I  aimed;  that's  a 
pipe." 

"And  you  might  hit  a  man — maybe  kill  him.  I  don't 
intend  to  kill  anyone,  and  won't  need  to.  Still,  I  can 
keep  'em  from  mining — with  your  help." 

"  Where  do  I  come  in? " 

I  told  him,  and  set  him  chuckling.  I  explained  every 
detail  of  my  scheme,  and  that  afternoon — for  we  were 
not  to  start  until  twilight — we  rehearsed  it,  practised  on 
the  hillside  until  we  were  perfect.  Every  few  minutes 
Lem  would  have  a  suggestion  to  better  the  plan,  and 
we  added  to  it,  and  tried  it  out.  If  anybody  had  come 
over  the  Susanville  trail  that  afternoon,  and  had  passed 
the  creek  where  we  camped,  they'd  have  thought  two 
boys  were  crazy,  or  else  a  Boy  Scout  detail  was  at  work 
in  the  wilderness.  But  there  were  only  Zim  and  Faus 
tina  to  witness  our  gesticulations,  and  they  were  too 
busy  feeding  to  give  us  more  than  an  occasional  eye. 

After  we  had  practised  till  we  felt  perfect,  we  wrote 
it  all  down  in  duplicate,  so  we  couldn't  go  wrong  if  we 
did  forget,  and  each  stowed  a  copy  in  a  pocket;  then 
curled  up  in  the  shade  and  went  to  sleep.  Directly  after 
supper,  we  repacked,  filled  the  canteen,  and  I  ahead 

205 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

with  Zim,  Lem  following  with  a  "  Ma-a-a-a  "-ing  goat, 
started  back  toward  Eagle  Lake.  Remembering  how 
I  had  seen  from  Sentinel  Rock  three  burros  to  mistake 
them  for  deer,  I  intended  that  darkness  should  be  com 
plete  before  we  came  into  eye-range  of  a  possible 
watcher  on  the  peak  at  the  lake's  edge. 

It  was  plenty  dark  enough  to  suit  me  when  we  turned 
off  the  trail  into  the  rough  side-hills,  and  I  was  glad  I 
had  traveled  them  so  often,  day  and  night,  and  knew 
their  difficulties.  As  it  was,  we  had  to  make  frequent 
stops  for  rest,  and  it  was  during  one  of  these,  when  we 
were  at  a  spot  midway  between  the  deserted  cabin  and 
our  valley,  that  Lem  whispered,  pulling  my  sleeve: 

"  Look,  Ted !    A  light  at  the  cabin !  " 

But  I  was  looking  at  another  light  that  puzzled  me 
more  than  any  illumination  of  the  log  house  could,  even 
a  conflagration ;  my  light  was  in  our  valley,  and  it  was 
a  big  fire.  I'd  have  said  it  was  our  shack  burning,  but 
it  seemed  too  far  from  the  lake.  Its  flames  lit  up  Sen 
tinel  Rock,  and  the  peak  at  the  other  side  of  the  creek's 
mouth,  but  it  also  was  reflected  against  the  redwood 
foliage. 

"  What  are  they  burning  there,  Lem?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  impatiently.  "  Who  d'you  think's 
in  the  cabin,  Ted?" 

"  I  can't  guess.    Have  they  set  fire  to  the  chaparral?  " 

"  It's  steady  as  a  candle ;  maybe  a  fire  in  the  chimney." 

"  It's  getting  bigger  every  minute.    Look,  Lem ! " 

206 


Battle  Plans 

"  Now  it's  gone.  Went  out  in  a  flash.  What  was  it, 
Ted?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Look  at  my  blaze.  What  do  you 
think? " 

Lem,  his  little  flicker  gone,  looked  at  last  toward  the 
illumination  my  finger  pointed  to,  studied  it  a  long  min 
ute,  then  said: 

"  Gallup  and  Pardner  have  a  bonfire  to  guard  their 
rebuilt  dam,  Ted.  See,  it's  right  at  the  top  edge  of  my 
garden.  They've  built  a  big  blaze  so  they  can  see  you 
if  you  come  down  to  tip  over  their  work." 

That  was  so  reasonable  an  explanation  that  I  accepted 
it  at  once,  and  turned  to  Lem's  light  problem;  but  his 
must  be  taken  on  say-so,  for  there  was  nothing  to  indi 
cate  there'd  ever  been  a  light  in  that  direction  now. 
From  his  description,  I  guessed  he  had  seen  the  fireplace 
glow  through  door  or  window.  Anyhow,  someone  was 
in  the  cabin.  Possibly  Gallup,  or  Pardner,  or  both,  al 
though  Lem  wouldn't  allow  that  supposition  to  stand  a 
second.  *  They're  down  below  the  bonfire,  rifles  in 
hand,  guarding  the  dam,"  he  insisted.  "  There's  a  third 
man  at  the  cabin.  And,  Ted,  it  may  be  he's  been  there 
all  the  time.  Maybe  Pardner  wasn't  in  it  when  you  first 
went  by.  Maybe  someone  else  is  hiding  out  on  Eagle 
Lake." 

He  was  still  maybe-ing  when  we  headed  again  for  the 
valley,  but  I  was  too  confused  by  all  the  possibilities  to 
listen  much.  At  about  midnight,  we  came  down  the 

207 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

gully  side  above  the  redwoods,  watered  Zim  and  Faus 
tina  in  the  creek,  and  I  led  off  at  right  angles,  straight 
up  the  stream's  bed.  It  was  hard  going,  over  rocks  and 
in  water,  but  Zim  was  almost  as  sure-footed  as  Faustina, 
who  could  stand  on  a  stone  not  much  bigger  than  my 
hand,  four  hoofs  together,  and  leap  lightly  to  the  next. 
An  hour  or  more  we  kept  to  the  water,  leaving  no  tracks, 
then  turned  at  the  forks  into  a  little  flat  about  the  size 
of  Lem's  garden  patch,  and  made  camp.  I  risked  a 
small  fire,  after  unpacking  and  tethering  the  animals, 
for  Lem  and  me  to  dry  out,  and  again  we  boiled  coffee. 
It's  wonderful  how  much  coffee  a  boy  can  drink  when 
he's  making  day  out  of  night,  and  working  hard  at  the 
job ;  and  how  little  that  coffee  will  affect  his  sleep.  Lem 
was  snoozing  before  he'd  finished  a  second  cup,  and  I'd 
have  been,  but  I  just  had  to  keep  from  sleep;  we  must 
be  out  before  the  first  sign  of  dawn. 

So  I  stayed  awake,  and  worried  over  who  was  in  the 
cabin  down  the  lake,  what  Wayne  wanted  of  the  Black 
Boulder,  and  whether  my  plans  for  the  day  would  work 
out  as  well  as  they  looked  in  scheming. 

I  awoke  Lem  at  three;  the  sun  rose  about  half-past 
four  at  that  time  of  the  year;  gave  him  the  luncheon  I'd 
packed  for  his  nooning,  and  watched  him  away;  then 
picked  up  the  rifle,  threw  the  pistol  by  its  cord  over  my 
shoulder,  and  started  down  for  my  old  friend,  the  split 
boulder. 

As  daylight  came,  I  scanned  eagerly  the  mountain- 

208 


Battle  Plans 

side  across  the  valley,  even  before  I  could  pick  pine  from 
fir  in  the  gloom,  hunting  for  the  signal  that  would  tell 
me  Lem  was  in  position,  ready  to  do  his  part.  I  found 
it  just  as  the  sun  behind  the  peaks  sent  its  bright  colors 
aloft  to  give  promise  of  its  coming.  High  up  on  the 
north  slope  of  our  valley,  in  the  heart  of  the  pine  forest, 
from  the  scraggied  top  of  a  lofty  trunk,  fluttered  a  little 
white  rag;  Lem's  dirty  pocket  handkerchief.  A  long 
half  mile  away,  a  valley  between ;  but  it  told  me  that  my 
friend  was  watching  every  movement  of  two  enemies 
asleep  now  in  our  shack,  and  that  I  should  from  conceal 
ment  watch  them  through  his  eyes. 


209 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  BATTLE  OPENS 

THIN  rays  of  an  early  sun  were  slanting  down 
the  canon,  making  rubies  of  rocks,  rose  bloom 
of  foliage,  when  the  white  rag  on  the  pine  van 
ished.  I  could  not  see  the  arm  that  removed  it,  but  I 
knew  that  Lem,  perched  up  there,  probably  straddling  a 
branch  on  the  other  side  of  the  trunk,  had  signaled  the 
arising  of  one  or  both  of  the  men  at  the  hut.  An  instant 
later  came  a  flicker  of  white  from  the  right  of  the  trunk, 
meaning  Gallup;  then  from  the  left;  Pardner.  I  was 
informed  by  my  observer  that  the  enemy  were  both  out 
of  bed,  both  under  his  eye. 

210 


The  Battle  Opens 

Even  had  I  been  on  top  of  the  boulder  where  I  might 
be  seen,  I  would  have  been  unable  to  get  such  a  view  of 
them  as  Lem  had  from  his  tree.  In  the  crevice,  of 
course,  they  would  not  be  visible  to  me  until  they  were 
half-way  to  the  dam,  but  all  the  while  they  were  in  the 
valley,  from  the  lake's  shore  to  the  redwood  forest,  or  if 
they  climbed  the  slope  of  the  hill  I  was  on,  Lem  could 
watch  them.  He  was  well  concealed.  Knowing  where 
he  was,  all  I  had  seen  of  him  was  the  flutter  of  his  hand 
kerchief,  and  hereafter  he  would  use  his  cap,  dark  col 
ored  and  much  less  conspicuous  in  the  gloom  of  the 
pines.  Should  he  be  located  by  Pardner  and  Gallup,  he 
was  out  of  range  of  their  rifles,  and  long  before  they 
could  close  up  to  shooting  distance,  he'd  be  down  and 
hidden  in  a  safe  place  already  selected. 

Almost  an  hour  went  by  without  sign  from  Lem  or 
sight  of  anyone.  Then  an  arm  with  a  cap  at  its  extrem 
ity  came  from  the  right  side  of  the  tree,  stayed  a  moment 
perpendicularly,  then  wig- wagged,  one,  two,  three;  Gal 
lup  was  moving  eastward.  Cap  raised,  lowered  to  per 
pendicular;  Gallup  carried  a  rifle.  I  looked  for  another 
signal  from  Lem's  left  hand;  his  Pardner  hand;  but  it 
didn't  come.  Pardner  was  remaining  at  the  hut.  I 
poked  my  face  through  the  brush  at  the  cleft's  opening 
and  looked  down  to  see  the  little  lawyer,  pick  over  shoul 
der,  rifle  in  hand,  coming  jauntily  toward  the  dam. 
Evidently  a  night's  freedom  from  attack  had  been  reas 
suring. 

211 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

I  let  him  ramble  on  until  he  was  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  my  hiding-place,  then,  aiming  carefully,  raised 
a  puff  of  dust  right  in  front  of  his  feet,  and  greeted  his 
ear  to  the  wail  of  a  mangled  bullet  taking  the  rebound. 
Gallup  stopped  as  abruptly  as  if  hit,  dropped  the  pick 
with  a  clatter,  grasped  the  gun  in  both  hands,  and 
jumped  over  the  creek's  bank.  I  saw  the  splash  of  his 
landing,  then  turned  my  eyes  back  to  Lem. 

Both  arms  out  perpendicular;  cap  in  one  hand,  hand 
kerchief  in  the  other.  I  wished  he  wouldn't  use  the 
white — once  white — rag.  It  was  too  conspicuous.  But 
he  was  signaling  with  it  at  the  left;  Pardner  was  run 
ning  to  join  Gallup,  who  had  hid  behind  the  stream's 
bluff  bank.  I  threw  the  rifle  lever,  sending  a  cartridge 
home,  looked  down  and  waited.  No  one  came  into  view. 
Lem  was  wig- wagging,  and  I  counted;  six  waves  of 
the  handkerchief;  Pardner  was  coming  up  the  creek- 
bed. 

My  cue  was  to  remain  quiet  there,  keep  my  head 
back,  and  watch  for  Lem's  signals.  There  was  nothing 
in  the  shot  I  had  fired  to  tell  the  men  where  I  was  hiding. 
I  was  using  smokeless  powder,  and  the  echoes  of  the  re 
port  made  location  by  ear  impossible.  Nor  could  they 
tell  from  the  ricochet  of  the  bullet  any  more  than  its 
general  direction.  So  long  as  I  kept  tight  in  my  hole 
and  watched  Lem,  I  was  as  safe  as  a  flicker  in  his  hol- 
lowed-out  nest.  But  it  was  the  hardest  thing  I  ever 
tried  to  do. 

212 


The  Battle  Opens 

An  arm  each  side  of  the  trunk  wagged  four  times ;  the 
men  were  moving  westward;  then  six  times,  meaning 
they  were  keeping  to  the  creek.  On  their  way  back  to  the 
shack,  I  guessed.  If  I  climbed  up  to  the  ledge  I  could 
see  them  as  they  cut  up  from  the  stream.  That  wasn't 
in  our  plans,  but  it  suited  me  better  than  lying  in  a  crack 
of  a  rock,  waiting  for  Lem  to  talk  with  his  hands. 

I  learned  then  the  reason  discipline  is  so  necessary  in 
an  army;  why  the  soldier  who  disobeys  is  punished  se 
verely.  Plans  are  made  beforehand  when  time  is  ample 
for  careful  thought  by  cool  brains  and  concentrated 
minds ;  the  break  from  the  plan  is  usually  an  inspiration 
of  the  moment.  It  may  gain  a  point,  just  as  I  expected 
to  learn  something  of  advantage  from  a  perch  on  top 
the  rock;  but  it  endangers  the  carefully-laid  plan — just 
as  my  move  busted  ours  wide  open ! 

When  I'd  pulled  myself  up  to  lie  on  the  ledge,  Lem 
was  signaling,  but  I  had  missed  the  beginning  and  its 
message  was  meaningless.  I  hoped  he'd  repeat,  lifted 
my  head  to  get  a  clearer  view  of  him,  and — spat!  A 
bullet  hit  the  rock  not  six  inches  from  my  nose.  I 
ducked,  rolled  sidewise,  and  flopped  back  into  the  crev 
ice.  It  was  so  close  a  squeak  that  I  was  trembling  as 
badly  as  Gallup  ever  had.  And,  worst  of  all,  I'd  told 
the  enemy  where  I  was  hid. 

My  being  discovered  wasn't  anywhere  in  our  plans. 
We  had  arranged  what  to  do  if  Lem  was  located,  but  I, 
with  my  traceless  nitro-powder,  my  concealing  echoes, 

213 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

was  to  lie  hidden  all  day  long  and  keep  the  jumpers 
jumping.  Now  they  could  train  their  artillery  on  my 
boulder  and  make  it  more  interesting  for  me  than  I 
could  for  them.  If  the  crevice  had  been  wider  and 
longer,  I'd  have  kicked  myself  for  this  stupidity. 

Lem  would  be  scared  stiff  up  the  tree,  not  knowing 
whether  the  bullet  had  hit  me  or  not.  I  must  relieve  his 
mind  at  once  by  firing  a  shot;  and  as  long  as  I  was  going 
to  shoot  anyhow,  I  might  as  well  do  some  good  with  the 
bullet.  Squirming  on  my  stomach,  to  present  as  small 
a  target  as  possible,  I  crawled  to  the  opening  and  looked 
out. 

There  was  no  signal  from  the  pine;  no  indication  of 
Gallup  and  Pardner.  The  shot  that  had  sent  me  scur 
rying  from  the  top  of  the  rock  came  from  the  mouth  of 
the  creek.  I'd  seen  the  smoke  of  black  powder.  I 
looked  hard  down  that  way,  then  came  the  simultaneous 
slap  of  a  bullet  on  rock  and  the  crack  of  a  rifle,  while  a 
little  puff  of  smoke  floated  above  the  bank  of  the  creek. 

I  waited.  The  tiny  white  cloud  from  the  burnt  black 
powder  had  given  me  the  general  location  of  the  rifle 
men,  and  I  adjusted  my  globe  sight  for  a  range  of  four 
hundred  yards,  cocked  the  weapon,  and  lay  ready  for  a 
quick  shot.  A  movement  above  the  brow  of  the  bank; 
then  an  arm  and  shoulder  exposed;  one  of  the  men  tak 
ing  position  to  shoot.  I  aimed  well  to  the  right  of  the 
target,  not  wanting  to  hit,  and  pulled  trigger.  With 
the  report  the  target  vanished.  A  moment  more  I 

214 


The  Battle  Opens 

watched  there,  then  turned  my  glance  to  Lem's  observa 
tion  post. 

Both  hands  out  straight;  the  men  had  not  separated. 
One,  two,  three;  then  six,  very  slowly  with  both  hands; 
together  they  were  moving  up  the  stream,  keeping  be 
hind  its  edge.  I  saw  what  their  game  would  be.  The 
lilac  bush  before  the  boulder  was  hiding  both  me  and  the 
mouth  of  the  crevice,  leaving  only  the  top  of  the  rock  as 
a  target.  They  had  to  guess  where  I  was  in  the  mass  of 
stone  and  brush.  But  if  they  could  get  opposite,  where 
lower  foliage  exposed  the  trend  of  the  cleft,  they  could 
place  bullets  with  much  greater  accuracy.  It  would  be 
a  dangerous  position  there  for  me  should  the  men  gain 
cover  close  to  the  dam. 

To  reach  the  dam,  they  must  pass  a  space  of  a  hundred 
feet  where  the  stream  ran  shallow  and  the  bank  was  low, 
exposed  to  my  fire,  or  else  they  might  take  to  the  thicket 
and  risk  stopping  bullets  sent  at  random  through  the 
brush.  Either  way,  it  was  a  ticklish  stretch;  just  how 
dangerous  they  couldn't  know,  for  Lem  would  see  them 
all  the  time,  and  keep  me  posted.  He  was  watching 
them  now,  semaphoring.  I  read,  "  Both  men  going  up 
the  creek,  in  the  channel,  moving  slowly.  They  stop. 
They  talk,"  and  I  knew  the  decision  of  whether  to  cross 
the  open  space  or  make  the  detour  would  come  quickly. 
My  eyes  left  Lem  to  find  the  shallows. 

Pardner  led  out,  his  broad  back  hunched  over,  head 
pulled  down  between  shoulders.  He  was  trusting  to 

215 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

slip  by  unseen.  I  could  have  put  a  bullet  through  that 
mess  of  red  hair,  for  he  was  not  two  hundred  yards 
away;  and  I  should  have  been  justified  in  doing  so;  but 
I  could  not  bring  myself  to  kill.  I  drew  fire  on  his 
crimson  thatch,  but  I  was  set  at  four  hundred  yards,  and 
the  bullet  must  have  passed  a  foot  or  more  directly  over 
his  head;  close  enough  for  him  to  hear  its  angry,  hornet 
buzz.  He  dropped  as  though  it  had  hit  him. 

Gallup,  who  had  just  poked  out  into  the  open, 
jumped  back  like  a  Jack-in-the-box,  as  I  sent  a  ball 
singing  over  him,  and  Pardner  squirmed  along  on  hands 
and  knees  to  join  him,  while  I  spattered  water  over  him 
to  urge  haste.  Lem  began  announcements  as  soon  as 
the  two  were  out  of  my  sight ;  one,  two,  three,  four,  both 
hands ;  slowly,  then  faster,  faster ;  then  halt.  They  had 
run  down  the  creek  as  rapidly  as  legs  would  take  them, 
not  stopping  until  they  reached  the  place  of  start 
ing. 

Then,  in  a  minute,  the  signal  that  I  dreaded  came 
from  Lem;  both  arms  held  high  in  air.  It  meant  that 
the  men  were  separating.  I  looked  across  to  see  Pard 
ner  make  a  run  to  disappear  in  one  of  the  many  defiles 
of  the  lake's  shore.  I  could  not  see  Gallup,  but  Lem 
was  pointing  him  as  going  southward.  The  enemy  had 
split  forces,  one  to  reach  the  high  places  to  the  north, 
where  he  could  hide  in  the  pine  woods  and  pot  me  when 
I  poked  a  head  from  the  crevice  to  look  for  Lem ;  Gallup 
on  a  detour  southward  to  come  up  from  behind.  It  was 

216 


The  Battle  Opens 

good  tactics ;  we  had  planned  that  they  would  do  it ;  but 
we  hadn't  planned  that  they  should  know  exactly  where 
I  lay  hid.  Now,  if  they  acted  with  promptness  and  en 
ergy,  I  must  either  become  a  prisoner  in  my  hole  or  a 
dead  Ted  Wilson. 

Still,  I  wasn't  so  badly  discouraged  about  the  situa 
tion.  In  the  first  place,  Gallup  was  not  only  a  poor 
rifleman,  but  a  coward;  and  Parclner,  bolder  and  a  bet 
ter  shot,  was  lazy.  It  would  be  just  like  the  big,  red- 
faced  claim-jumper  to  get  tired  before  he  found  a  good 
position  to  do  his  potting  of  me  and  leave  the  matter  for 
another  day.  He  was  a  "  Mariana  "  man,  as  the  Mexi 
cans  say;  putting  off  till  to-morrow  what  ought  to  be 
done  to-day. 

Besides,  Lem  was  my  good  watch-dog,  could  follow 
Gallup's  every  movement,  perhaps  keep  tabs  on  Pard- 
ner,  although  he'd  be  among  the  pines  and  probably  con 
cealed  from  Lem.  I'd  try  to  watch  the  big  man.  Even 
now,  Lem's  right  hand,  holding  the  cap,  was  telling  me 
the  story  of  the  snooping  Gallup.  He  had  gone  along 
the  lake  shore,  made  a  wide  circle,  and  come  into  a  posi 
tion  higher  and  back  of  me,  where  he  expected,  I  sup 
pose,  to  rake  the  crevice  with  his  fire.  My  human  sema 
phore  told  me  he  was  getting  set  to  shoot.  Very  well. 
He  couldn't  know  that  the  cleft  was  as  crooked  as  a 
snake,  and  the  bullet  that  got  to  me  from  his  direction 
would  have  to  turn  corners.  I  only  hugged  the  floor  a 
little  tighter,  listened  to  the  report  of  the  rifle  and  won- 

217 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

dered  where  the  bullet  went.  Probably  he  missed  the 
boulder. 

Suddenly  Lem's  left  hand  shot  out ;  he'd  seen  Pard- 
ner ;  but  instead  of  waving  code  signals,  he  was  pointing. 
I  strained  my  eyes  to  make  out  what  his  hand  indicated, 
and  finally  determined  it  was  either  the  stump  of  a  dead 
pine  or  a  large  fallen  log,  both  at  the  lower  edge  of  the 
forest,  one  of  which  sheltered  the  big  man.  "  Ready  to 
fire,"  Lem  signaled  warning,  and  I  moved  back  out  of 
danger  before  a  bullet  struck  the  wall  inside  the  mouth 
of  the  cleft,  too  close  for  my  happiness.  If  Pardner 
had  not  found  the  best  location,  it  wasn't  as  bad  a  one 
as  I'd  like  him  to  have.  He  was  behind  the  down  log, 
powder  smoke  told  me.  I  guessed  the  distance,  set 
sight  for  three  hundred  yards,  and  shot  a  bit  under. 
Drawing  coarser  sight,  I  saw  the  dust  of  rotted  wood 
leap  from  the  log.  Because  of  Lem  and  the  claim- 
jumper's  use  of  black  powder,  I  had  prisoned  him,  in 
stead  of  being  caged  up  myself.  Unless  he  wanted  to 
take  the  chance  of  a  fifty-foot  dash,  he  was  tied  there. 
Lem  was  waving  his  cap,  and  it  wasn't  a  signal;  it  was 
three  cheers ! 

The  red  head  lifted  above  the  log  for  a  return  shot, 
but  I  was  waiting  for  it.  The  bark  my  bullet  spattered 
must  have  struck  his  face.  With  this  rifle  of  mine,  a 
wonderful  weapon  and  familiar  to  me,  I  have  killed 
deer  at  five  hundred  yards;  not  every  time,  but  now 
and  again.  Now  I  was  shooting  prone,  with  plenty  of 

218 


The  Battle  Opens 

time  to  aim,  tested  range,  and  no  wind;  it  would  be 
strange  if  I  couldn't  place  the  bullets  just  where  I 
wished.  I  might  have  put  a  leaden  slug  into  Pardner's 
head  just  as  easily  as  into  the  log  before  him.  He 
probably  realized  it,  for  he  kept  covered  after  that 
shot. 

Lem's  Gallup-arm  began  to  wave,  one,  two,  three. 
Gallup  was  moving  farther  east.  Plunking  another 
bullet  into  Pardner's  log  to  insure  his  staying  there,  I 
climbed  up  on  the  ledge  and  looked  for  the  lawyer.  He 
was  a  half  mile  or  more  away,  headed  for  the  redwoods, 
having  tired,  probably,  of  rifle  practice.  Let  him  go. 
He  was  not  seriously  dangerous  at  any  time,  and  I  could 
guess  where  he'd  show  next.  I  took  my  lunch,  climbed 
up  on  the  higher  boulder's  top,  laid  the  rifle  across  my 
knees,  and  ate  with  the  appetite  of  mountain  air  and  no 
breakfast.  I  kept  an  eye  on  Lem,  the  other  on  Pard- 
ner's  log,  and  wondered  if  Lem  would  see  me  eating, 
take  the  hint,  and  secure  some  nourishment  in  this 
respite. 

I  was  washing  down  the  last  crumb  with  a  long  pull 
at  the  canteen  when  I  heard  a  sound  that  stiffened  me 
into  a  flat  line  on  the  rock.  It  came  from  our  lean-to, 
or  close  by  it;  was  the  noise  of  someone  moving  things 
about  there.  Another  minute,  ana  it  came  again  and 
louder;  something  heavy  had  fallen  with  a  crash  in  the 
cabin. 

Cautiously  I  lifted  my  head  and  looked.  Nothing  in 

219 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

sight  to  explain  the  sound.  It  could  not  be  Gallup,  for 
I  had  seen  him  disappear  far  up  in  the  redwoods.  Was 
it  possible  Pardner  had  slipped  from  behind  his  log  and 
returned?  My  eyes  went  across  the  valley  to  Lem,  who 
raised  his  left  arm,  then  pointed;  the  big  man  was  still 
there.  Something  or  somebody  was  in  the  hut,  and  it 
was  neither  of  the  claim- jumpers. 

For  a  long  time  I  watched  the  lean-to  between  lilac 
leaves,  seeing  nothing,  hearing  no  more.  Then,  just  as 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  return  to  the  crevice,  a  man 
came  from  the  hut,  and  immediately  disappeared  down 
the  bank  of  the  lake.  I  had  but  a  broken  glimpse  of  him 
through  the  foliage,  but  he  was  neither  Gallup  nor 
Pardner.  Instinctively  I  looked  for  the  latter,  to  find 
that  he  had  risen  from  concealment,  was  standing  re 
gardless  of  the  danger  of  my  rifle,  and  was  peering  at 
the  hut.  As  I  raised  the  gun  quickly  to  my  shoulder,  he 
started  a  wild  run  back  up  the  hill,  away  from  me  into 
the  forest.  Afraid  of  me?  I  knew  better.  He  was 
running  from  what  I  had  seen,  a  man  at  the  cabin. 

Sliding,  scrambling,  I  came  down  the  boulder  and 
began  a  mad  race  for  my  hut.  Whoever  had  frightened 
Pardner  must  be  friendly  to  me.  I  ran  stumbling  down 
the  slope  to  the  valley,  then  across  the  flat,  dashing  up 
the  rocks  to  where  I  had  seen  the  form  disappear.  No 
one  was  in  sight.  I  called  loudly  a  dozen  times.  No 
answer.  I  puffed  and  panted  a  half  mile  along  the  lake 
side,  then  satisfied  that  whoever  had  been  there  had  got- 

220 


The  Battle  Opens 


ten  well  away,  returned  more  slowly  to  the  boulder  and 
crept  back  into  my  crevice. 

If  Lem  was  still  in  his  tree,  he  was  behind  its  trunk 
and  had  no  reason  for  signals.  The  sun  left  the  cleft  to 
cast  its  shadows  to  the  east.  A  chipmunk,  brilliant  in 
yellow  and  black  stripes,  paid  me  a  call  and  jerked  his 
plumed  tail  in  time  to  shrill  chirps.  It  was  a  beautifully 
calm,  windless,  sun-bright  afternoon;  perfumes  of  lilac 
and  blossoming  roses  lifted  to  my  face  from  the  valley; 
I  grew  drowsy  with  the  hum  of  a  bumble-bee.  Drowsy. 
Asleep. 


221 


CHAPTER  XX 

IN  THE  NIGHT 

THAT  I  escaped  the  penalty  of  the  soldier  who 
falls  asleep  at  his  post  while  on  lookout  or 
picket  duty  was  not  because  I  slept  with  one 
eye  open,  or  merited  punishment  less.  I  deserved  to 
wake  up  looking  into  the  muzzles  of  rifles  poked  over  the 
edge  of  the  crevice,  but  I  didn't.  When,  near  sunset,  I 
opened  dragging  eyes  unwillingly,  then  remembering, 
popped  them  wide  in  surprise  and  fear,  shook  sleep  from 
my  limbs,  crawled  to  the  opening,  and  looked  across  to 
Lem's  tree,  the  valley  was  still  as  placid  as  when  I  left 
the  world  behind  in  slumber.  The  valley,  at  sunset, 

222 


In  the  Night 

spelled  peace,  quiet,  rest;  as  though  bullets  had  never 
sped  across  it  to  seek  human  targets. 

Slowly,  carefully,  I  surveyed  it  from  the  redwoods  to 
the  lake,  prying  gaze  boring  into  every  thicket,  probing 
each  chaparral ;  first  with  the  dread  of  a  rifle's  crack  to 
curb  my  inquisitive  spirit;  then  with  more  assurance, 
courage,  and  a  further  stretched  neck.  Nothing  to 
cast  suspicion  upon  its  peacefulness.  No  stir  of  leaf  in 
the  sage  and  mesquite,  no  rustle  of  branch  in  the  trees ; 
only  the  ripple  of  the  stream,  and  the  distant  drumming 
of  a  grouse.  If  Gallup  and  Pardner  were  anywhere 
below  there,  they  were  too  cleverly  concealed  for  me  to 
discover  their  hiding-places;  and  Lem  must  have  lost 
sight  of  them  completely,  for  nothing  showed  of  arm, 
hand  or  cap  in  the  blasted  pine  on  the  slope. 

The  rebuilt  dam  had  called  for  occasional  glances 
from  me  in  the  excitements  of  the  day;  now  I  studied  it 
carefully,  and  found  that  it  had  been  more  than  repaired. 
Reconstructed,  it  was  much  broader,  and  doubled  in 
strength.  I  doubted  that  I  could,  even  with  pry  and 
fulcrum,  demolish  it  in  an  all  night  of  work.  But  my 
eyes  found  something  of  greater  importance  to  me.  The 
rocks  that  my  lever  had  sent  tumbling  down  the  stream 
had  been  rolled  and  tossed  by  the  current  to  be  stopped 
by  the  barrier  of  the  curve,  and  the  place  where  I  found 
the  gold  was  under  a  pile  of  heavy  stones.  Every  indi 
cation  of  my  digging  for  the  prospect-pans  had  been 
destroyed. 

223 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

The  flume  was  spouting  merrily;  too  much  water 
coming  through  for  practical  mining;  but  that  was  a  de 
tail,  righted  in  a  few  minutes  with  a  shovel,  by  widening 
the  ditch.  Dam  and  sluices  were  ready  for  their  work, 
and  I  ached  to  get  down  there  and  begin  clearing  the 
creek's  bed.  I'd  need  to  make  a  sledge  of  some  kind,  so 
Zim  could  haul  pay-dirt  from  below  the  dam  to  the  head 
of  the  sluices;  a  box  on  a  pair  of  runners  would  do. 
That  swift-flowing  stream  would  carry  all  the  dirt  I 
could  shovel  out  and  haul.  If  it  was  up  on  Baldy,  or 
one  of  half  its  size — even  a  quarter  the  flow — the  Black 
Boulder  claim  would  be  so  valuable  that  I'd  never  have 
to  worry  about  Mother  Laing,  Lem,  or  my  own  educa 
tion. 

Well,  the  water  was  here  on  the  Hot  Biscuit,  and 
there  was  gold  in  the  sands  of  the  Hot  Biscuit,  and  an 
other  day  was  drawing  to  its  end  without  Gallup  and 
Pardner  gaining  possession  of  the  property;  at  least, 
not  working  it.  We  had  prevented  their  stealing  a  single 
pan  of  the  bottom  mud.  They  wouldn't  work  at  night. 
It  would  need  a  bonfire  at  the  dam  to  give  light  for  their 
operations,  and  they  would  be  in  its  blaze  with  us  and 
the  rifle  out  in  the  darkness.  They  didn't  have  nerve 
enough  for  that. 

But  where  were  the  men  now?  Why  had  Pardner 
started  running  when  he  saw  a  stranger  at  the  hut? 
Where  had  he  run  to?  Who  was  the  stranger?  Where 
had  the  stranger  gone?  Where  had  Gallup  disap- 

224 


In  the  Night 

peared  when  he  entered  the  redwoods?  Interesting 
questions,  all  of  them;  I  could  think  up  as  many  more, 
and  answer  none. 

There  was  movement  in  Lem's  pine-top,  and  his  cap 
began  waving  its  message.  Gallup,  on  the  hill  behind 
me,  was  moving  westward.  Then  the  cap  went  up  to 
arm's  length  above  the  shoulder,  held  there  an  instant, 
and  brought  down  quickly.  "  Look,"  it  said,  in  our 
code. 

Hastily  I  came  to  my  feet,  peeped  over  the  rim  of  the 
crevice,  and  looked  upon  a  little  cavalcade  that  sent  my 
heart  down  into  my  boots  at  the  same  time  it  raised  all 
the  anger  in  me.  Gallup  was  leading  Zim,  while  Faus 
tina  followed.  The  lawyer  had  found  our  camp,  stolen 
our  animals,  and — I  could  see  that  Zim  was  packed — 
carried  away  all  our  supplies. 

He  was  out  of  range,  fortunately  for  him  and  for  me. 
I  do  not  believe  I  should  have  hesitated  an  instant  in 
sending  a  bullet  through  his  thieving  brain,  for  he  was 
stealing  our  very  lives.  Not  only  every  ounce  of  food 
we  had,  but  the  horse  that  we  must  use  to  reach  food 
had  been  taken  from  us.  This  was  the  calamity  not 
anywhere  in  our  plans.  Even  now  I  was  wildly  hun 
gry.  One  meal,  and  a  small  one,  in  the  last  twenty-four 
hours  had  not  appeased  the  appetite  of  a  healthy  boy. 
Lem  was  undoubtedly  in  the  same  condition.  And  this 
weasel-lawyer  had  stolen  our  food. 

I  started  to  climb  from  the  cleft  with  the  crazy  idea 

225 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

of  chasing  after  him;  of  recapturing  horse,  goat  and 
packs;  but  I  thought  in  time  of  the  uselessness  of  the 
attempt.  He  was  three-quarters  of  a  mile  away,  and 
could  travel  at  least  as  rapidly  as  I  could,  and  farther. 
There  wasn't  a  chance  to  stalk  him  on  the  open  hill.  He 
had  seen  me  already,  judging  from  the  change  he  made 
in  his  course.  And  he  had  a  rifle,  could  stand  behind 
Zim  and  shoot  across  his  back.  So  I  did  nothing,  while 
the  procession  disappeared  from  my  view  in  one  of  the 
gullies  beside  the  lake;  then  lay  down  again  in  the  crev 
ice  and  waited  for  the  hour  I  should  rejoin  Lem. 

It  came  at  last  in  night's  blackness,  and  I  cautiously 
crept  out  and  around  to  the  place  of  meeting  in  the  hol 
low  tree  that  had  housed  us  for  a  night.  As  I  stepped 
to  the  opening,  Lem  spoke  from  inside: 

"  That  you,  Ted?  "  And  I  answered  promptly  and 
joyfully.  It  was  better  than  food,  hearing  Lem's  voice. 
He  sounded  cheerful  enough,  as  he  asked,  "  Had  supper 
yet?" 

"  You  know  why  I  haven't — why  there  isn't  going  to 
be  any  supper.  I'd  have  shot  the  thief  if  I'd  seen  him 
sooner."  My  feeling  of  wrath  was  hot  in  my  voice. 

'  That's  why  I  didn't  signal  sooner,"  Lem  rejoined 
coolly.  "  I  had  the  hunch  you'd  shoot  first  and  remem 
ber  those  two  kids  and  the  missis  afterward.  How 
would  a  few  pine  nuts  hit  your  palate? "  and  he  passed 
me  a  handful  he'd  gathered  in  the  woods. 

I  began  feeling  better  at  once,  and  before  I'd  finished 

226 


In  the  Night 

was  as  glad  Lem  had  forgotten  to  signal  as  Gallup 
would  have  been  if  he'd  known  it.  Without  a  blanket 
to  cover  the  opening,  we  didn't  dare  have  a  fire  in  the 
tree,  but  we  sat  together  with  our  backs  against  the 
wood  and  discussed  the  day's  events.  Lem  had  not  seen 
the  man  at  the  lean-to,  didn't  know,  until  I  told  him  the 
reason,  why  Pardner  had  run.  But  Pardner  had  never 
stopped  running  so  long  as  he  was  within  view  from  the 
lofty  pine  tree;  running  or  walking  hurriedly,  he  had 
continued  into  the  forest  and  up  the  mountain,  away 
from  the  hut,  the  valley  and  the  lake. 

When  we  had  finished  the  nuts  and  asked  all  the 
questions  we  had  in  us,  Lem  made  a  suggestion  I  readily 
accepted;  that  we  go  down  the  creek  aways,  get  an  idea 
of  what  the  enemy  was  doing  if  they  had  come  back  at 
all. 

We  set  out  at  once,  I  with  the  rifle  leading,  and  made 
our  way  to  the  dam,  where  we  stopped  to  reconnoiter 
with  eye  and  ear.  As  there  was  nothing  to  see  or  hear, 
I  led  off  again,  keeping  close  to  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
ready  to  slip  over  in  the  instant  of  alarm.  So  we  came 
opposite  our  hut,  black  as  a  pocket,  silent  as  a  tomb. 
Lem  placed  his  lips  to  my  ear,  and  whispered: 

'  Wait  here."     Then  he  slipped  away. 

I  obeyed  scarcely  breathing,  rifle  ready  to  create  a 
disturbance  should  Lem  be  discovered;  and  in  a  short 
time  he  was  again  at  my  side,  whispering,  not  so  cau 
tiously  as  before: 

227 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  Nobody  home." 

"  Our  packs — are  they  there?  "  I  asked  low. 

"  No.  Some  of  their  truck  is,  but  it's  all  scattered 
and  torn  up  around  inside,  bunks  emptied  out,  every 
thing  topsy-turvy.  I  couldn't  see,  but  I  could  feel." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  it's  all  strange  enough.  Let's  start 
back." 

"  Start  nothing!  I  came  to  get  you.  We're  going 
to  reoccupy  the  hut,"  and  his  hand  on  my  arm,  he  led  me 
along  up  the  rock-way  to  the  lean-to.  This  might  be  a 
trap  set  by  our  enemies,  quail-cage  or  twitch-up,  but  it 
was  baited  with  the  promise  of  food  and  blankets,  and  I 
followed  Lem  into  it. 


228 


I 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  LIGHTNING-CHANGE  ACT 

'D  give  a  quarter  interest  in  the  Hot  Biscuit  gold 
mine,  right  this  minute,  for  a  cup  of  hot  coffee," 
Lem  remarked,  a  half  hour  later,  the  first  words 
spoken  above  a  whisper  in  the  hut  that  night.     I  glanced 
around  nervously,  saying: 
"Do  you  think  it's  safe?" 

"  I'm  willing  to  take  a  chance  if  you  are.  I  believe 
Pardner  is  still  hurdling  the  ice-capped  peaks  of  the 
high  Sierras,  running  away  from  his  past;  and  Gallup, 
as  a  fighting  man,  is  a  joke.  Let's." 

229 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

I  went  over  to  the  fireplace,  laid  my  rifle  within  hand's 
reach,  found  the  pitch  kindling,  and  piled  up  wood 
enough  for  a  cooking  blaze;  then  touched  a  match  to  it, 
grabbed  the  rifle  and  jumped  back  to  the  deep  shade  of 
the  cabin.  For  the  few  moments  that  the  fire  was  mak 
ing  headway  into  flames,  I  listened  anxiously  for  the 
crack  of  a  rifle  and  the  spat  of  its  bullet;  but  no  sound 
broke  the  peace  of  the  night.  Lem  had  filled  the  coffee 
pot,  and  now  adjusted  it  over  the  heat  as  I  urged  haste 
away  from  the  glow. 

The  front  of  the  lean-to  was  open  and  facing  the  fire 
place,  with  the  lake  beyond.  If  we  kept  well  at  the  back 
of  the  cabin  where  the  bunk  and  table  were,  we  would 
be  exposed  only  to  the  view  of  a  possible  someone  on 
Sentinel  Rock,  or  the  lake  itself;  and  the  glow  of  the  fire 
gave  us  opportunity  to  see  the  contents  of  the  hut. 
Lem  had  said  upon  his  first  investigation  that  it  was  in 
confusion;  but  we  realized  now  that  it  had  been  gone 
through  in  a  hurried  search  for  something,  by  some 
body  who  had  no  regard  for  orderliness  or  a  tidy 
room. 

We  began  picking  things  up,  packing  them  away;  put 
the  pine-boughs  and  needles,  with  the  blankets,  back  in 
the  bunk;  gathered  the  scattered  food  and  supplies  into 
one  corner.  And  we  found  that  the  captured  provisions 
were  a  generous  supply,  bacon,  part  of  a  ham,  crackers 
in  tins,  canned  milk,  ginger-snaps  in  packages,  besides 
flour,  sugar  and  like  necessities.  So  far  as  food  went, 

230 


The  Lightning-Change  Act 

we  had  gained  in  the  trade  with  Gallup  and  Pardner; 
and  Zim  and  Faustina,  though  I  hated  to  think  of  them 
in  Gallup's  hands,  could  hardly  be  regarded  as  assets; 
they  had  to  be  looked  after. 

"Fair  enough;  fair  enough/'  Lem  chuckled,  as  he 
staggered  under  the  weight  of  a  heavy  case.  "  I  don't 
know  what's  in  here,  but  we're  winners  as  is.  Hand 
me  that  axe  and  I'll  bust  this  open  for  a  look- 


see." 


I  brought  the  tool,  but  I  didn't  give  it  to  him.  As  I 
caught  a  fair  view  of  the  box,  I  decided  it  shouldn't  be 
opened  roughly  with  an  axe. 

"Set  it  down  easily  —  easily,  Lem!  Handle  it 
gently ! "  He  backed  away  from  it,  looking  the  ques 
tion.  "  It's  dynamite." 

"  Christmas  Eve ! "  Lem  whistled.  "And  me  just 
juggling  it  like  a  sack  of  spuds !  Dinnymite !  Wow !  " 
And  he  retreated  to  the  far  corner  of  the  lean-to. 

I  laughed  as  I  knelt  down  to  remove  the  lid  more 
carefully  than  we  might  have  done  with  an  axe.  "It's 
a  lucky  find,  Lem.  They  brought  it  for  mining,  and 
we'll  use  it,  if  we  need  to,  for  stopping  them  from  min 
ing.  See  if  you  don't  find  a  roll  of  fuse  and  a  box  of 
caps  somewhere  about." 

Still  casting  nervous  looks  at  the  case,  he  began  a 
search  which  soon  produced  the  balance  of  the  outfit. 
As  he  handed  them  to  me,  he  said  feelingly: 

"  Ted,  I  hope  if  Goober  and  his  Pard  begin  shooting, 

231 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

no  careless  bullet  lands  in  that  mess.     Think  of  what 
it'd  mean." 

"  Would  your  mind  rest  easier  with  the  case  outside 
the  hut?  "  I  asked. 

"It  sure  would,  Ted;  and  the  farther  outside  the 
better." 

"  Then  grab  an  end,"  I  laughed.  Dynamite  was  too 
frequent  a  housemate  for  me  to  give  it  much  thought, 
but  I  knew  the  dread  that  haunts  the  tenderfoot. 
"  We'll  carry  it  up  to  the  dam — and  please  don't  stum 
ble,  Lem." 

With  every  minute  of  respite  from  disturbing  inter 
ruptions  by  the  enemy,  we  lost  anxiety  and  lessened 
caution.  It  began  to  seem  certain  that  the  claim- 
jumpers  had  deserted  the  valley.  As  Lem  and  I  each 
grasped  a  rope  handle  of  the  heavy  case,  neither  thought 
once  of  the  rifle  set  against  the  bunk.  Lem  might  be  ex 
cused  for  the  neglect,  for  his  mind  was  clouded  by  close 
contact  with  explosive  force  enough  to  lift  us  both  into 
the  adjoining  county  of  Lassen.  I  should  have  known 
enough  to  carry  the  rifle  everywhere,  every  minute, 
while  there  was  a  possibility  that  Gallup  and  Pardner 
were  about. 

We  lugged  dynamite,  fuse  and  caps  up  the  creek,  left 
them  on  its  bank  beside  the  dam,  and  started  the  return. 
When  almost  to  the  hut,  I  heard  something  that  made 
me  grasp  Lem's  sleeve  with  a  whispered,  "  Sh-h-h !  "  A 
boot-heel  had  struck  against  rock. 

232 


The  Lightning-Change  Act 

We  crouched,  breathless.  In  a  moment  a  voice  came 
out  of  the  darkness  beyond  the  cabin,  thin  and  quaver 
ing,  a  lowered  call. 

"  Red— that  you,  Red?  " 

If  I'd  had  the  rifle,  my  answer  would  have  sent  Gal 
lup  galloping  through  the  night  in  greater  fear  than  held 
Lem  and  me  silent  and  trembling  now.  But  to  walk 
through  the  glow  of  the  camp-fire,  under  his  rifle's  muz 
zle,  to  get  it  was  way  beyond  me.  Instead,  we  watched 
Gallup  slip  up  from  the  shadows,  dodge  quickly  into  the 
cabin;  and  we  turned  away  to  run  on  tiptoes,  stopping 
only  when  we  were  again  at  the  dam. 

"  My  fault,  Lem,"  I  groaned,  sitting  down  on  the 
dynamite  box.  "  You  can  kick  me  all  you  please." 

"  Not  while  you're  sitting  where  you're  sitting,"  he 
grinned;  then  with  the  echo  of  my  own  groan,  "And  that 
shyster  is  drinking  my  cup  of  coffee!  " 

"  Not  only  coffee,  but  he's  got  every  single  solitary 
thing  we  own — food,  blankets,  goat,  horse,  rifle,  pistol 
and  ammunition.  Do  you  realize  that,  Lem?  " 

"  Lack  of  a  cup  of  coffee  sort  of  brings  it  home  to  me. 
Where  d'you  suppose  he's  hid  Zim  and  Faustina?  " 

That  brought  me  up  with  a  bound.  If  Gallup  had 
led  them  near  the  hut,  we  must  have  heard  them.  Faus 
tina  would  have  to  be  gagged  to  keep  her  from  her 
"  Ma-a-a-s."  Zim  had  a  way  of  nickering  whenever  his 
keen  nostrils  located  me.  The  animals  were  not  near 
the  cabin. 

233 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  We'll  find  them,  Lem.  Come  on,"  I  said,  and  again 
filled  with  hope,  we  began  running  for  the  valley's  south 
ern  slope,  I  to  stop  suddenly  after  a  dozen  steps,  with, 
"  You  go  on,  Lem.  Climb  to  the  top  and  wait  for  me 
at  the  boulder." 

"  What  you  going  to  do?  "  he  asked. 

"  Make  'em  trouble.  Keep  running,"  and  I  gave  him 
a  shove  to  start  him  forward,  while  I  turned  back  to  the 
dam.  Six  sticks  of  dynamite  I  took  from  the  case,  then 
carried  the  rest  of  it  and  hid  it  carefully  in  the  thicket. 
Three  feet  of  fuse  from  the  coil,  the  balance  hid  with  the 
powder;  a  cap  from  the  box;  and  I  began  trouble- 
making. 

Into  the  front  of  the  dam  I  burrowed,  removing  stone 
after  stone  till  I  had  a  hole  near  its  base  two  feet  or  more 
deep,  into  which  I  planted  five  of  the  half  dozen  sticks  of 
explosive.  Over  the  end  of  my  bit  of  fuse  I  slipped  the 
fulminate  of  mercury  cap,  crimping  it  to  hold,  by  biting 
its  edge  between  my  teeth.  Then,  cutting  away  the 
greased  paper  at  the  end  of  the  sixth  stick,  I  inserted  the 
capped  tip  of  the  fuse  well  into  the  soapy  dynamite, 
pressed  it  together  around  the  cap,  and  placed  the  stick 
in  the  heart  of  the  others  in  the  cavity. 

It  took  me  several  minutes  to  replace  the  rocks  to  the 
best  possible  advantage,  but  I  finally  finished,  took  a 
moment  to  recover  breath,  poked  a  lighted  match 
against  the  fuse's  end,  scrambled  up  the  creek  bank,  and 
ran  like  an  express  train  making  up  lost  time  for  the 

234 


The  Lightning-Change  Act 

boulder  and  Lem.  It  came  as  I  struggled  the  last  few 
feet  of  the  steep  incline,  a  flash  that  lighted  the  whole 
valley  for  an  instant,  and  a  thunderous  explosion ;  a  rain 
of  rocks ;  then  the  gentler  dropping  of  smaller  ones  that 
had  climbed  higher.  I  listened  eagerly,  and  strained 
my  eyes  to  pierce  the  night  for  the  evidence  of  success. 
It  came  to  my  ear.  The  stream  was  hammering  rock 
against  rock  in  its  old  channel.  Again  the  dam  was  a 
wreck. 

"For  the  love  of  Mike!"  gasped  Lem,  as  I  pulled 
alongside.  'What  have  you  done  to  Gallup?  Think 
of  those  two  poor  kid  orphans ! " 

I  laughed.  "  They'll  still  have  daddy's  knee  to  climb 
on.  It's  the  dam,  not  the  Peanut,  that  went  flying. 
Come  on;  we'll  hunt  Zim." 

"Zim,  a  coffee-pot,  and  the  living  milk  can,  Faustina," 
Lem  agreed,  and  I  led  the  way  toward  the  defile  where 
I  had  seen  the  procession  disappear  that  afternoon. 
It  was  easy  to  pick  up  the  trail,  even  in  the  night,  for  the 
ground  in  the  gully  was  soft  and  hoofs  cut  deep.  On 
the  rocky  shore  of  the  lake  we  lost  it  again,  but  they  had 
turned  southward,  toward  the  foot  of  the  stretch  of 
water.  All  we  had  to  do  was  follow  along,  and  study 
the  earth  in  each  arroyo  to  see  that  the  animals  had  not 
been  turned  back  toward  the  hills. 

"  Kinda  looks  as  though  Peanut  had  headed  for  the 
old  cabin,"  Lem  said,  after  we  had  progressed  a  few 
miles  along  the  edge  of  the  lake. 

235 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  It  does  that.  But  somebody  was  using  that  log-pile 
last  night,  and  it  wasn't  Gallup.  I  wonder ?  " 

"  We'll  find  out,"  Lem  interrupted.  "  If  the  man 
who  started  Pardner  Red  galloping  over  the  hills  is  still 
there,  we  want  to  meet  him;  or  Zim  and  Faustina. 
Let's  make  a  straight  course  for  the  cabin  and  take  the 
chance." 

By  scrambling  up  and  down  the  sides  of  gullies  so 
steep  that  they  would  block  a  horse,  we  could  cut  off  a 
third  of  the  distance  and  save  time;  and  we  were  shortly 
alongside  the  little  grove  that  sheltered  the  deserted 
house  on  the  lake's  edge.  A  whinny  from  Zim,  fol 
lowed  in  a  moment  by  Faustina's  long  "  Ma-a-a-a,"  gave 
evidence  that  we  had  guessed  right  as  to  the  animals. 
They  were  in  the  corral  beside  the  cabin. 

The  structure  itself  was  as  black  as  night  when  we 
approached.  I  was  so  glad  to  find  Zim  again — yes,  and 
Faustina,  too, — that  I  should  have  gone  directly  to  the 
little  enclosure  where  they  were  held,  but  Lem  re 
strained  me,  whispering: 

"  Let's  find  out  if  anyone's  in  the  cabin  first." 

It  was  good  advice,  and  we  moved  to  the  front  door 
with  all  the  care  and  secrecy  of  two  hen-roost  pillagers, 
to  find  the  door  closed,  and  the  peg  sticking  in  the  auger 
hole  bored  in  the  jamb;  the  simple  locking  device.  It 
was  pretty  conclusive  evidence  that  no  one  was  inside, 
but  an  invader  might  have  crawled  in  by  the  window. 
We  still  retained  our  caution,  as  we  pulled  the  plug, 

236 


The  Lightning-Change  Act 

opened  the  sagging  door  an  inch  at  a  time,  and  tip 
toed  in. 

Putting  my  hand  in  the  bunks,  at  the  blackest  end  of 
the  cabin,  half  expecting  it  to  light  upon  human  flesh, 
was  the  most  hair-raising  experience  of  this  trying  night. 
When  I  had  accomplished  that,  to  find  nothing  more 
startling  than  the  same  old  pine  needles  I  had  seen  there 
before,  the  striking  of  a  match  to  light  up  the  place  was 
easy.  By  its  flame  we  convinced  ourselves  that  there 
were  no  other  occupants,  and  found  our  packs  piled  in 
one  corner. 

"  Which  means  coffee,"  Lem  said  aloud,  his  voice 
sounding  odd  in  the  old  shack.  "  There  are  candles  here 
somewhere.  Scratch  another  match  and  I'll  dig  'em," 
which  I  did,  after  seeing  that  the  door  was  tight  shut  and 
hanging  a  blanket  over  the  one  window,  and  soon  had 
the  room  lighted,  a  fire  in  the  chimney  doing  its  duty  to 
a  coffee-pot  and  skillet  laden  with  bacon.  Only  then 
did  Lem  lean  back  against  a  blanket  roll,  sigh  content 
edly  and  say  with  a  grin: 

"Reg'lar  lightning-change  act,  Ted.  One  minute 
ours  is  theirs  and  theirs  is  ours,  then — presto!  Flip 
and  flop — now  you  see  it,  and  now  you  don't!  Get  me 
a  cup  of  coffee  quick,  before  it  vanishes." 

"Let  her  boil,  Lem;  give  her  a  chance,"  I  steadied 
him.  "  I  wonder  what  Gallup  is  doing  now." 

A  chuckle  from  Lem,  then: 

"  Shivering  with  fear  in  the  darkest  corner  of  our 

237 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

lean-to,  wondering  what's  going  to  explode  next.  I'd 
rather  know  what  Pardner's  up  to.  Ted,  I  had  a  good 
squint  at  his  phiz  to-day,  and  somewhere  I've  bumped 
into  him  before.  I've  met  Pardner  in  the  past." 

"  Where?    When?  "  I  asked  eagerly. 

"  It  must  have  been  when  I  was  housekeeping  down 
by  the  docks — you  remember — tin  house  on  a  farm — 
and  was  selling  newspapers  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the 
fence-board  door.  Maybe  I  just  run  against  him  on 
the  street ;  he's  such  an  odd-looking  guy  he'd  be  apt  to 
stick  in  my  mind ;  but  the  notion  holds  that  I  saw  more 
of  him — was  somehow  interested  in  his  doings — I  can't 
straighten  it  out  in  the  old  think-tank,  though." 

"  It  may  come  back  to  your  memory,"  hopefully.  I 
poured  two  steaming  cups  of  the  black  coffee,  piled  a 
plate  with  bacon  for  each  of  us,  then  as  I  took  a  seat  on 
the  floor  beside  Lem,  said  slowly,  "  We're  not  much  ac 
count  in  this  claim-holding  affair  without  the  rifle,  Lem ; 
worth  just  about  nothing.  I'll  let  you  take  Zim  in  the 
morning,  and  you  hike  out." 

"Hike  out  where?" 

"  Susanville — or  Quincy.  We've  money  enough  left 
so  you  can  buy  a  ticket  to  Portland.  You  leave  Zim 
at  some  livery  stable,  and  write  me  where  you  left 
him." 

"And  where  you  going  to  be? " 

"  I'm  going  to  try  to  hang  on  here,"  I  replied,  even 
more  slowly.  "Just  hang  around.  They'll  fix  the 

238 


The  Lightning-Change  Act 

dam  again  to-morrow,  probably.  Somehow  I'll  try  to 
smash  it.  Maybe,  if  I'm  lucky,  I  can  keep  'em  off  from 
locating  till  the  ranger  gets  here." 

Lem  was  silent  a  minute  while  his  coffee  cooled  and 
the  strips  of  bacon  steamed  unnoticed  on  the  tin  plate. 
Finally  he  asked: 

"  Are  we  pardners,  Ted?  " 

"  Sure,  Lem.     But  that  don't  mean  much  as  things 


are  now." 


"  It  means  fifty-fifty  in  everything,  doesn't  it? "  Still 
persistent. 

"  Even  shares,  yes;  but  in  what,  Lem?  " 

"  In  hard  luck— fifty-fifty  in  the  bad  luck  and  the 
danger.  You  gave  when  it  looked  good.  You  can't 
take  away  when  it's  bum  and  rocky.  Pardners  means 
staying  by  through  the  lean,  just  the  same  as  the  fat. 
I'll  help  spoil  the  dam,  Ted." 

I  couldn't  insist  after  that.  I  didn't  even  dare  thank 
him.  All  I  said  was: 

"  We'll  make  it  somehow.  They've  got  to  actually 
find  mineral  before  they  can  locate,  and  we've  stopped 
'em  doing  that  a  week  now.  Maybe,  with  luck " 

"And  dynamite,  Ted.  Don't  forget  we've  got  dyna 
mite.  And  cut  out  the  maybes.  We're  going  to  keep 
the  Hot  Biscuit  for  our  own  eating.  Roll  into  your 
blankets  in  the  bunk  there  and  get  some  sleep.  I've  the 
beginning  of  an  idea,  and  I  want  to  sit  up  and  let  my 
bone-head  roll  around  over  it,  so  I'll  keep  watch." 

239 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

I  spread  the  blankets  upon  the  soft  pine  needles  and 
crept  into  them,  with: 

"  Wake  me  in  an  hour,  Lem,  and  I'll  spell  you  on  the 

watching  part.  Fifty-fifty  in  everything "  and 

my  eyes  closed  in  sleep.  When  they  opened  again,  it 
was  morning,  and  Lem  sat  before  the  coals  of  a  burned- 
down  fire,  still  wide  awake,  on  guard. 


240 


L 

fully: 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  FLAG  OF  TRUCE 

EM,  sitting  before  a  fire  that  was  down  to  embers, 
whittled  on  a  wand  of  peeled  willow,  and 
whistled  below  his  breath.  I  spoke  reproach- 


'  Why  didn't  you  wake  me?  What  time  is  it?  You've 
sat  up  all  night."  And  Lem  looked  around  at  me, 
grinned,  and  replied: 

"  Sun  not  up  yet,  Ted.  I've  been  busy,  so  forgot  to 
wake  you." 

I  jumped  from  the  blankets  and  pulled  on  my  boots. 

241 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

When  I  came  back  from  a  souse  of  face  and  arms  at  the 
spring,  Lem  was  mixing  pine  soot  scraped  from  the 
chimney  flue  with  water  on  one  of  the  stones  of  the 
hearth.  I  watched  him  curiously. 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  doing? "  I  asked  at  length. 

"  I'm  a  Bessemer  steel  plant,  operating  as  a  munitions 
factory,"  he  said,  rubbing  the  black  mixture  upon  the 
willow  stick.  "  This,"  waving  the  wand,  "  is  a  latest 
model,  high-power  repeating  rifle." 

I  looked  at  him  pityingly.  "  Sleep  is  what  you  need, 
Lem.  Get  into  the  bunk  here,  and  you'll  be  better  after 
a  few  hours'  rest.  Come ;  I'll  help  you." 

"  It's  a  better  rifle  than  the  one  you  lost,"  he  con 
tinued,  unheeding,  "  for  there  isn't  a  chance  of  its  mak 
ing  any  orphans.  As  for  shooting  qualities,  it's  certainly 
as  good  as  the  one  Gallup  uses." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Lem.  Get  to  bed  right  away.  I'll  find 
some  goose-grass  and  make  a  soothing  tea  that'll  kill 
the  fever  in  an  hour  or  two.  Don't  worry;  we'll  pull 
you  out  of  it." 

I  took  him  by  the  arm,  more  anxious  than  I'd  been 
since  the  claim-jumpers  came  into  the  valley,  but  Lem 
laughed  so  heartily,  so  reasonably,  that  I  let  go  with  an 
indignant: 

"What  you  trying  to  do?  Scare  the  life  out  of 
me?" 

"  No,  Ted;  trying  to  scare  the  life  out  of  Peanut  and 
Pardner."  He  raised  the  blackened  wand  to  his  shoul- 

242 


A  Flag  of  Truce 


der  and  pointed  it  at  me.    "  How  does  it  look  from  in 
front? " 

I  began  to  see  light.  At  a  little  distance,  it  would 
look  as  much  like  a  rifle  barrel  as  another  rifle  barrel 
would  look.  I  sat  down  on  one  of  the  wood  blocks,  with: 

"  But,  Lem,  they  know  we  only  had  one  rifle;  and 
they've  got  that.  How  will  this  fool  them? " 

He  sobered  at  once,  sat  down  beside  me,  and  began: 

"  Check  up  on  me,  Ted;  I'm  going  to  spiel  my  night's 
musings,  and  if  you  find  I'm  getting  off  on  the  wrong 
track,  pull  me  back.  To  begin  with,  they  don't  know 
we  had  only  one  rifle " 

"  But  they  saw  all  our  stuff — everything,"  I  broke 
in.  "  The  first  afternoon  they  came,  when  they  drove  us 
off  the  place." 

"  Yes.  But  one  of  us  went  to  Susanville  after  that. 
If  he  didn't  buy  another  rifle  there  he  was  pretty  foolish. 
They  know  one  of  us  went  to  Susanville,  for  Gallup 
followed  Zim's  tracks ;  and  they  don't  know  that  I  was 
a  fool." 

"  It  wasn't  on  your  list,"  I  defended  him. 

"  No.  Have  a  cup  of  coffee,  Ted.  But  anyhow,  those 
men  don't  know  how  many  guns  we  have — or  haven't — 
got.  This  one  I've  built  will  be  the  one  from  Susanville. 
Am  I  reasonable  so  far?  " 

"  Yes;  it'll  fool  them.    Go  on." 

"  You'll  find  the  milk  in  the  mining-pan.  Sugar  in 
the  sack." 

243 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  Milk? "  I  leaped  to  look;  a  quart  or  more.  "  Why 
— where ? " 

"  Faustina  on  the  job.  But  listen.  I'm  guessing  that 
Gallup  and  Pardner  are  worse  discouraged  right  now 
than  we  are.  They've  been  held  up  a  week,  one  blow 
after  another,  and  last  night's  dynamite  plot  on  top  of 
yesterday's  mess  of  bullets,  and  Pardner's  big  scare 
from  the  stranger  at  the  shack,  have  left  them  bluer  than 
indigo.  I'm  guessing  they'll  quit  on  a  strong  bluff, 
Ted." 

"  Maybe,"  I  began,  rather  dubiously,  but  Lem  in 
terrupted. 

"  You're  thinking  of  Pardner.  Gallup  we  both  know 
is  a  quitter.  After  he  found  you  didn't  scare  a  bit,  he 
was  ready  to  throw  up  the  sponge.  But  Pardner's  got 
more  fight  in  him.  He  isn't  afraid  of  us;  but  he  is  of 
someone  else.  Now — I'm  guessing  again,  but  I  think 
it's  a  fair  guess — Pardner  doesn't  know  any  better  than 
we  do  where  that  stranger  he's  scared  of  is.  Just  a  hint 
of  him,  and  Pardner  will  take  to  the  woods." 

"  Perhaps,"  I  began  again,  again  to  be  stopped  with: 

"  My  plan  is  to  pull  a  strong  bluff  this  morning  while 
they're  blue  and  grumpy.  Me  with  a  flag  of  truce, 
under  protection  of  you  and  this  rifle.  I'll  offer  to  let 
them  take  their  donkeys,  packs  and  guns,  get  off  the 
place  at  once,  and  leave  the  decision  of  who  owns  it  to 
the  forest  ranger." 

I  walked  over  to  the  window  and  looked  off  across  the 

244 


A  Flag  of  Truce 

hills,  lit  by  the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun;  but  I  wasn't 
seeing  flowers  and  foliage  or  rolling  slopes ;  I  was  study 
ing  Lem's  plan ;  so  much  depended  upon  the  correctness 
of  his  guesses.  Were  Gallup  and  Pardner  discouraged? 
Were  they  uncertain  about  our  weaponless  condition? 
Would  they  stand  a  bluff?  If  Lem  had  guessed  wrong, 
and  the  men  didn't  scare,  there'd  not  be  a  chance  of  cor 
recting  the  guesses. 

"  If  you'll  stand  guard  with  the  stick,  while  I  wave 
the  white  flag,  I'll  go  you,  Lem,"  was  my  decision. 

"  Sure;  if  you  think  you'd  be  as  good  at  the  bluff  as  I. 
Don't  think  I'm  stuck  on  myself,  Ted,  but  when  it  comes 
to  talking  in  hints  and  threats,  I  believe  I've  got  you  beat 
a  city  block.  No;  it's  me  for  the  gab-fest." 

That  was  the  place  of  danger,  I  knew ;  and  just  as  well 
I  knew  that  Lem  had  to  be  in  that  place  if  we  were  to 
stand  any  chance  of  winning.  Reluctantly  I  agreed. 

"  You're  right,  Lem,"  I  said,  still  looking  from  the 
window  hole.  "  I  believe  it  will  work.  When  do  we 
start?" 

"  Now;  and  the  sooner  the  quicker,"  eagerly.  "  Come 
on;  let's  go." 

I  turned  toward  him;  then  quickly  back,  to  look  at 
the  hills  with  seeing  eyes.  Then  I  said: 

"  The  scheme's  no  good  at  all,  Lem.  It's  a  bum 
scheme." 

'Why?   Why  is  it?   What'ya  mean,  a  bum  scheme?  " 

"  It  won't  work,"  I  continued  slowly.  "  It's  poorly 

245 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

planned,  badly  thought  up.  It  hasn't  a  chance  in  the 
world." 

"  But — but  " — Lem  was  stuttering  in  his  disappoint 
ment — "  you  said  it  would  work — you  thought " 

"  I  think  now  that  the  idea  is  no  good  at  all." 

"  But  why?    Why  is  it  so  bad? " 

I  waited  just  a  moment  longer,  as  Lem  sputtered. 

"  Because  Gallup  has  beaten  you  to  it,  Lem.  He's 
coming  here,  and  he's  waving  a  shirt  tied  by  the  sleeves 
to  a  shovel  handle.  The  Peanut  thought  of  it  first." 

Lem  was  crowding  me  at  the  window,  his  eyes  star 
ing  from  his  head.  Down  the  hill,  walking  jerkily,  halt 
ing  frequently,  acting  as  though  he  wanted  to  turn  and 
run  at  every  step,  Gallup  came  under  a  flag  of  truce. 
I  had  to  laugh  at  Lem's  astonishment,  his  chagrin  at 
finding  the  enemy  anticipating  his  plan ;  but  it  was  only 
an  instant  that  the  boy  stood  there  dumb;  the  next,  he 
had  poked  the  willow  stick  into  my  hand  with: 

"  Hold  him  off  from  coming  nearer  than  the  edge  of 
the  trees.  I'll  find  out  what's  up,"  and  ran  from  the 
room. 

The  next  moment  I  saw  him  outside,  making  quickly 
toward  Gallup  who  halted  sharply,  and  waved  the  shirt 
frantically  at  sight  of  him.  Lem  turned  his  head  to 
shout  at  me: 

"  Let  him  come  to  the  tree  here,  Ted.  Plug  him  if  he 
takes  a  step  farther,"  and  I  poked  the  end  of  the  black 
ened  willow  menacingly  through  the  opening.  Gallup, 

246 


DOWN  THE  HILL,  WALKING  JERKILY,   HALTING  FREQUENTLY. 


A  Flag  of  Truce 

wavered,  but  braced  his  nerves  as  Lem  called  to  him, 
"  Drop  the  shovel  and  come  here.    What  do  you  want?  " 

Obeying  instantly,  Gallup  closed  up  the  gap,  holding 
both  hands  above  his  head. 

"  Not  a  weapon  on  me — you  can  see/'  he  piped 
shrilly.  "  Don't  get  careless  with  that  gun;  I'm  under 
a  flag  o'  truce.  I'm  here  to  negotiate,  peaceful-like  and 
lawful.  Under  a  flag  o'  truce." 

"  Better  stick  it  back  on,"  Lem  suggested  seriously. 
*  You  might  catch  cold,  and  those  two  kids  of  yours  lose 
a  worthless  dad.    What  you  here  for?  " 

"  To  make  you  boys  a  proposition,  honest  and  square. 
Me  and  my  pardner  are  dead  tired  of  you  and  your 
monkey-shines.  We  could  have  you  jailed  for  some  of 
the  things  you've " 

"Aw,  cut  it!"  from  Lem.  "Talk  brass  tacks. 
What's  your  proposition? " 

"  I  want  to  make  it  to  young  Wilson.  He's  the  one 
I've  got  to  discuss  business  with."  He  raised  his  voice. 
"  Can't  you  come  out  here  and  talk,  Wilson?  " 

"  I  can  hear  and  talk  from  the  window,"  I  replied. 
"  Speak  up  good  and  loud.  What  have  you  to  say?  " 

"  No  harm  in  my  setting  down  here  in  the  shade,  is 
there? "  Lem  grunted  permission.  "  I'm  here  repre 
senting  the  two  of  us,  me  and  my  pardner,  to  suggest  a 
trade  with  you,  Wilson.  You  own  the  Black  Boulder 
on  Baldy,  don't  you?  " 

"  Yes."    This  was  a  surprise-packet. 

247 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  And  I  own  the  homestead  right  to  tHe  creek  valley 
where  you  was.  Maybe  we  could  swap,  you  willing." 

Here  was  another  man  offering  for  my  dry  gravel 
claim.  "  Just  what  is  your  proposition?  "  I  asked. 

"  Even  trade  for  relinquishments.  We  pass  the  pa 
pers,  and  me  and  my  pardner  pull  out  of  the  place,  leav 
ing  it  to  you;  and  we  make  no  legal  claim  for  damages 
to  the  cradle  you  smashed,  or  the  dam  you  blew  up. 
Fair  enough." 

"  It  does  seem  fair "  but  Lem  was  talking  before 

I  had  more  than  started  my  sentence;  was  talking 
loudly,  too. 

"  You  can't  expect  us  to  deal  with  thieves,"  he  was 
saying.  "  We  can't  talk  business  with  robbers.  You 
run  away  with  our  stock,  and  steal  one  of  our  rifles " 

"  Hold  on,"  mildly,  from  Gallup.  "  Your  animals 
were  trespassing,  and  I  removed  'em;  then  one  of  you 
left  a  rifle  in  my  hut.  Don't  talk  so  noisy  about  thieves 
and  robbers."  I  felt  he  had  the  best  of  it,  but  Lem  in 
sisted: 

"  Just  that;  thieves  and  robbers.  You  tried  to  steal 
the  claim,  to  start  with.  Don't  talk  your  legal  flub-dub 
— you  know  as  well  as  we  know  that  you  haven't  a  foot 
to  stand  on,  and  when  that  forest  ranger  gets  here " 

"  Hold  on,  Lem,"  I  interrupted.  "  Don't  get  ex 
cited.  Let's  listen  to  Mr.  Gallup  a  bit.  Does  your 
pardner  agree  to  this  trade? " 

"  He  does.    This  here  is  his  suggestion." 

248 


A  Flag  of  Truce 

"  Why  didn't  he  come  to  make  it  then?  "  Again  it 
was  Lem  questioning,  and  Gallup  squirmed  visibly. 

"  He's  waiting  back  at  the  linter.  I'm  legal  owner 
of  the  ranch,  not  him.  I  have  to  sign  the  papers." 

"  I  suppose  you  brought  them  with  you,  ready  to 
sign? "  from  Lem. 

"  I  thought  probably  it'd  be  a  trade,  so  I  made  'em 
ready."  The  lawyer  opened  a  close-buttoned  coat  to 
expose  a  shirtless  body,  while  he  found  in  an  inner 
pocket  the  relinquishments,  and  handed  them  to  Lem 
with,  "All  drawn  proper  and  according  to  the  law. 
Wilson  signs  this  one,  here,"  pointing  with  a  dirty 
thumb,  "  then  I'll  sign  t'other,  and  all's  set  and  happy. 
Fair  enough." 

"  Sit  tight,  just  as  you  are,  and  I'll  take  them  in  to 
Wilson,"  said  Lem,  and  he  came  quickly  to  the  cabin 
door,  crossed  to  shove  the  papers  into  my  hand  with  a 
low,  "  Keep  Gallup  just  as  long  as  you  can,"  then 
loudly,  "  You're  to  sign  right  here,  Ted."  Then  in  a 
whisper,  "  Sign  nothing.  Give  me  half  an  hour's  start 
if  possible."  Then  aloud,  "  It  sounds  all  right.  Fair 
enough,"  and  ducking  so  as  not  to  be  seen  through  the 
window,  he  slid  like  a  shadow  out  the  door,  and  dis 
appeared. 

I  stood  in  the  window,  the  stick  protruding,  and 
looked  over  the  two  papers ;  but  I  wasn't  seeing  a  single 
word  written  there.  I  was  trying  to  make  out  what 
Lem  was  at,  the  meaning  of  those  whispered  messages. 

249 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

Where  had  he  gone?  Why  had  he  vanished  so  quickly, 
so  silently?  Why  was  I  to  hold  Gallup  here?  And  how 
was  I  to  keep  him? 

I  was  the  worst  hand  in  the  world  at  a  situation  like 
this.  I  couldn't  talk  one  thing  and  mean  another— not 
and  fool  anybody.  I  was  willing  to  obey  Lem,  would 
to  the  best  of  my  ability,  but  just  how  to  keep  Gallup's 
attention  engaged  for  thirty  minutes  was  a  puzzle.  Al 
ready  he  was  getting  nervous,  as  he  called: 

"  If  they's  anything  there  you  don't  rightly  under 
stand,  I'll  come  an'  explain  it  to  you,"  and,  glancing  up, 
I  saw  he  had  risen,  and  would  have  started  for  me,  had 
I  not  called,  tersely: 

"  Sit  down  there! "  He  sat  hurriedly.  I  continued, 
"What  do  you  happen  to  know  about  the  Black 
Boulder? " 

"  Nothing  much,"  uneasily.  "  Knew  you  was  owner 
on  the  land-office  records,  and  that  there  was  gold  in 
the  gravel  when  water  come  to  wash  it.  I  don't  figure 
to  make  nothing  by  the  trade." 

"  Do  you  know  Mr.  Wayne  of  Jamesville?  " 

"  Never  saw  him  in  my  life.  He  owns  the  hotel  there, 
don't  he? " 

"  That's  the  man." 

"  No,  I  don't  know  him.  What's  he  got  to  do  with 
this?" 

I  didn't  answer.  In  my  mind  there  was  a  connection 
somewhere  in  the  fact  that  two  men  desired  one  worth- 

250 


A  Flag  of  Truce 

less  claim.  Wayne  was  the  stingiest  miser  I  ever  knew; 
Gallup  the  craftiest  rascal.  They  wouldn't  want  the 
Black  Boulder  if  it  was  as  valueless  as  I  believed  it  to 
be,  and  it  didn't  seem  possible  that  both  could  have  some 
hidden  knowledge  that  increased  its  worth.  Slowly  I 
tore  up  the  papers  Lem  had  brought  me,  and  leaning 
from  the  window,  tossed  them  for  the  air  to  whirl  into  a 
little  snow-storm. 

"  What  you  doing  there?  "  Gallup  cried,  jumping  to 
his  feet.  "  What  for  did  you  tear  up  those  papers?  " 

"  Because  I'm  not  making  any  trades,  Gallup ;  and 
I'm  not  selling  to  Wayne.  I'll  keep  the  Black  Boulder, 
anyhow  until  I  know  what  you  and  Wayne  want  it  for. 
Here!  Come  back!  "  For  Gallup  was  walking  swiftly 
away.  Again  I  shouted,  "  Come  back  or  I'll  fire! " 

"  Shoot  the  old  black  stick,"  he  answered  over  his 
shoulder,  and  on  his  face  was  a  wicked  grin.  Those  fox 
eyes  of  his  had  seen,  or  perhaps  I  had  been  careless  in 
the  display  of  my  weapon;  anyhow  he  knew.  I  saw  him 
stop  to  pluck  his  shirt  from  the  shovel  handle,  then 
quickly  disappear  over  the  rise.  Not  a  third  of  Lem's 
half  hour  had  been  killed. 

I  didn't  wait  a  minute  there  for  Lem.  Only  one  place 
could  he  have  gone,  and  that  was  back  to  the  claim. 
His  plan — whatever  it  was — might  be  jeopardized  by 
my  inability  to  hold  Gallup  as  Lem  had  requested,  and 
I  must  try  to  help  him  now.  With  the  Bessemer  steel 
rifle  as  a  willow  walking  stick,  I  started  up  the  lake. 

251 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

Gallup  was  nowhere  in  sight,  though  I  kept  an  eye 
out  for  him  as  I  hastened  by  the  shortest  route,  cutting 
across  gullies,  hurdling  patches  of  sage  and  lupine,  tear 
ing  a  way  through  the  manzanita  when  it  would  save  a 
bit  of  time.  Lem  was  there  before  me,  for  up  from 
the  hut  came  a  shout,  a  wild  cry  that  it  seemed  to  me 
could  have  been  heard  for  miles: 

"  Extry  paper !  Extry  paper !  All  about  the  enemy's 
retreat !  All  about  the  great  victory !  Extry !  Extry  1 " 
Lem  was  again  a  "  newsie." 

Waving  the  soot-blackened  imitation  rifle,  I  slid,  fell 
and  scrambled  down  the  canon's  edge. 


252 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

POCKET  OF  GOLD 

THE  dam  was  rebuilt.    It  had  taken  only  two 
days  of  hard  work,  for  Lem  and  Zim  had  la 
bored  with  me.    Now  the  water  was  washing 
dirt  in  the  sluices,  the  riffles  were  accumulating  their 
precious  burdens,  and  the  rocks  were  pounding  at  the 
grizzly.    To-night  we  should  clean-up  the  first  run,  learn 
the  result  of  the  day's  mining  operations. 

What  had  become  of  Gallup  and  Pardner  was  still 
a  mystery.  When  Lem,  guessing  from  the  lawyer's 
nervousness  under  the  flag  of  truce,  that  Pardner  had 
not  returned  to  the  lean-to,  slipped  away  from  me  at 

253 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

the  deserted  cabin,  and  ran  as  fast  as  he  could  make  it 
up  the  lake  and  to  the  valley,  he  found  everything  gone 
— burros,  packs,  tools,  and  men;  the  whole  claim- jump 
ing  outfit.  Whether  Gallup  had  driven  them  away  be 
fore  he  visited  us  to  make  his  last  effort  at  a  profit  from 
the  plan  of  theft,  or  Pardner  had  returned  and  taken 
them,  we  could  only  guess.  Lem  thought,  because  he 
found  my  rifle,  revolver  and  some  of  our  mining  tools 
in  the  shack,  that  the  unscrupulous  Pardner  had  never 
come  back  there,  arguing  that  Red  would  have  stolen 
our  things  when  he  carried  off  their  own. 

We'd  gone  to  work  getting  ready  to  mine  with  ap 
prehensive  caution,  the  rifle  beside  my  hand  at  all  times; 
but  this  fear  was  wearing  away.  Although  we  could 
not  guess  the  reason  for  the  jumpers'  desertion  of  the 
claim  they  had  fought  so  desperately  to  secure  and  hold, 
we  admitted  the  fact ;  they  were  gone. 

'  What's  next  to  do? "  Lem  asked  eagerly,  watching 
me  scrape  from  the  riffles  into  the  pan.  "  Is  that  all 
gold  you're  taking  out?  " 

"  I  only  wish  it  was,"  I  laughed.  "  No,  Lem;  this 
has  to  be  washed  by  hand  now,  just  the  same  as  a  pros 
pect-pan.  Only  we've  got  here  the  concentrated  values 
of  all  the  dirt  we've  shoveled  in  this  afternoon;  a  hun 
dred  or  more  pans." 

"  Then  it  should  have  a  hundred  times  more  gold 
than  you  took  out  of  one  shovel  full?  "  Lem's  eyes  were 
popping;  but  again  I  had  to  disappoint  him. 

254 


Pocket  of  Gold 

"We've  been  running  all  the  bottom  dirt  through; 
just  as  it  came ;  not  a  selected  bit  of  rich  pay-dirt.  Some 
that  went  into  the  sluices  probably  didn't  carry  a  color 
— not  a  speck  of  gold.  If  this  pans  out  five  ounces — or 
four — consider  yourself  lucky." 

I  was  down  on  my  knees  at  the  ditchside,  panning; 
and  expecting  better  results  than  I  talked,  for  I'd  dug 
to-day  where  I  made  the  find,  getting  down  to  bed-rock, 
only  a  short  distance  below  the  gravel.  If  there  was 
gold  in  any  quantity  in  the  creek,  I  should  have  evidence 
of  it  in  my  pan.  The  weight  told  me  I  had  gold.  Be 
fore  I'd  worked  a  minute,  with  the  pan  beneath  the 
water's  surface,  my  eyes  confirmed  my  arm-muscles.  I 
brought  up  the  pan,  carefully  placed  it  on  the  ground, 
and  removing  two  bits  of  the  contents,  placed  them  in 
Lem's  hand,  with: 

"  Feast  your  eyes  on  those  while  I'm  working.  Nug 
gets,  Lem!"  They  were  hunks  of  pure  gold  bigger 
than  my  thumb-nail. 

The  next  time  I  lifted  the  pan  from  the  water,  I 
ceased  washing. 

"  Lem,"  I  said,  and  my  voice  was  husky,  "  I  just 
daren't  wash  this  any  more.  It's  too  rich.  The  stream 
might  carry  some  away,  for  it's  all  so  heavy,  gold  and 
iron  and  heavy  quartz,  that  it  can't  be  safely  handled 
in  the  current.  I'll  horn  it  out  at  the  hut,"  and  carrying 
it  in  my  arms,  I  led  the  way,  Lem  with  the  rifle,  down 
to  the  lean-to. 

255 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

It  was  supper-time  and  past,  but  we  gave  no  heed,  as 
with  the  horn  spoon  I  cleared  gold  from  debris,  piling 
the  precious  metal  on  a  tin  plate  placed  on  the  rock  be 
side  me,  keeping  the  dross  for  more  careful  examination 
later  on,  after  the  excitement  was  past,  for  it  might  still 
hold  value.  Horning  was  only  washing  on  a  smaller 
scale,  with  the  spoon  for  a  pan,  water  being  poured  in 
from  the  canteen.  Before  I  had  finished  the  day's  clean 
up,  I  was  working  by  the  light  of  a  fire  Lem  had  built, 
and  the  pile  of  gold  made  a  little  pyramid  on  the  tin 
plate. 

"  Looks  like  a  million  dollars  to  me! "  Lem  said  in 
awe-struck  tones.  "  Sure,  that's  more  than  four  or  five 
ounces,  Ted." 

"  Lift  it,"  I  suggested,  adding  the  last  spoonful;  and 
his  whistle  of  astonishment  sent  me  into  excited  laughter. 
"  I'll  say  there's  more  than  five  ounces  there! " 

Without  a  word  he  passed  me  the  dish,  and  I  hefted 
it  carefully.  "  I  wish  we'd  bought  a  pair  of  scales  at 
Susanville,"  I  cried.  "  I'm  only  guessing,  but  there's 
nearer  five  pounds  of  gold  than  five  ounces!  Lem,  you 
and  I  are  rich !  " 

His  lips  were  moving  but  no  words  came;  at  last  he 
blurted  out: 

"  Sixteen  hundred  dollars !  Ted,  tell  me  I'm  not 
dreaming!  Sixteen  hundred  dollars  in  one  day's  work!  " 

"  Some  of  that's  a  dream,  yes,  Lem.  You're  figuring 
sixteen  ounces  to  the  pound,  for  instance;  should  be 

256 


Pocket  of  Gold 

twelve;  and  you're  taking  full  five  pounds  as  your  basis 
of  calculation.  I  never  had  so  much  in  any  one  clean-up 
of  a  day's  run  at  the  Black  Boulder,  but  I'd  guess  there 
was  between  eight  and  nine  hundred  dollars  of  good 
money  in  the  pile.  Discouraged?  " 

"  Do  I  look  like  it?  And  we've  only  begun,  Ted. 
There's  a  thousand  times  as  much  dirt  left  in  the  creek 
as  we've  dug  out.  We'll  be  able  to  buy  up  all  San  Fran 
cisco  and  build  a  garden  on  Nobb  Hill." 

"  Let's  get  supper."  I  looked  at  my  watch.  "  Why, 
it's  nine  o'clock !" 

As  we  hurried  about  getting  the  delayed  supper,  we 
discussed  what  we  should  do  with  our  wealth;  how  we 
should  spend  the  many  thousands  that  the  Hot  Biscuit 
would  give  us.  I  wanted  to  get  down  to  Berkeley,  where 
the  State  University  was  located,  by  September,  and 
have  a  couple  of  years  at  some  preparatory  school  get 
ting  ready  to  matriculate.  Lem  couldn't  see  much  fun 
or  excitement  in  that  program  but  wanted  to  be  with 
me,  even  if  it  meant  school  and  college.  As  he  put  it: 

"  Education  never  bit  anybody  to  hurt  'em,  Ted. 
There's  worse  things  to  have  than  schooling.  So  if 
you're  set  on  gathering  all  the  knowledge  there  is  in  the 
world,  I'll  tag  on  and  pick  up  what  driblets  leak  out. 
What'll  we  do  with  the  mine  while  we're  colleging? " 

"  Put  it  in  charge  of  a  good  foreman  with  a  gang  of 
miners.  If  the  bottom  runs  this  value  all  the  way  up  to 
our  dam,  we'll  go  higher,  say  just  below  where  the  creek 

25? 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

comes  out  of  the  redwoods,  and  put  in  our  works. 
That'll  give  us  a  stretch  of  ground!  " 

"  A  half  mile  of  gold !   Whe-e-e !  " 

"  Of  course  it  may  not  all  run  so  rich,"  I  hastened  to 
explain,  for  I  didn't  want  Lem  to  be  disappointed. 
"  Maybe  there'll  be  barren  spots  where  there's  no  gold. 
You  never  can  tell."  But  Lem's  only  answer  was: 

"  Eight  hundred  dollars  a  day! " 

We  hid  the  gold,  after  placing  it  in  my  poke,  by  dig 
ging  a  cavity  in  the  rock  behind  the  fireplace  and  cover 
ing  it  over  there.  And  we  decided  to  take  turns  at  guard 
duty;  Lem  to  sleep  until  one  o'clock,  when  I'd  call  him 
and  take  his  place  the  balance  of  the  night.  We  were 
more  anxious  now  that  we  knew  for  certain  the  value  of 
the  claim,  and  we  didn't  intend  to  be  caught  napping 
by  any  claim- jumpers. 

There  was  not  the  slightest  disturbance  during  my 
watch,  and  it  passed  rapidly,  my  mind  working  over 
happy  plans  for  Mother  Laing  and  us  two  boys.  Lem, 
after  a  series  of  explosions  into  talk,  had  finally  snoozed 
off,  and  was  so  sound  asleep  that  I  had  to  shake  him 
plenty  when  it  came  his  turn  on  duty.  Crawling  into 
the  blankets,  warmed  by  him,  I  fell  asleep  almost  im 
mediately,  to  be  roughly  awakened  a  minute  later,  it 
seemed,  to  hear  Lem's  voice  at  my  ear,  whispering: 

"They've  come.  Get  up  quick!"  And  he  shoved 
the  rifle  into  my  hands. 

I  laid  it  across  my  lap,  felt  for  and  found  my  boots, 

258 


Pocket  of  Gold 

pulled  them  on;  for  the  mountain-bred  boy  knows  how 
helpless  he  is  until  shod.  If  an  earthquake  should  shake 
the  peaks  down  on  top  of  him,  when  he  was  dug  out  in  a 
distant  age,  they'd  find  him  petrified  reaching  for  his 
boots ! 

The  fire  was  still  burning,  but  low.  Lem,  excited  but 
silent,  a  finger  on  his  lips  to  warn  me,  listened  and 
peered  out  from  the  end  of  the  hut.  He  had  the  old 
revolver  in  his  hand,  I  noticed;  and  it  was  cocked. 

Boots  on,  unlaced,  I  cocked  the  rifle  noiselessly  and 
slipped  to  Lem's  side.  I  could  hear  the  sounds  that  had 
disturbed  him  now;  someone  digging  behind  the  shack. 
At  once  I  placed  my  mouth  close  to  my  partner's  ear 
and  breathed: 

"  Being  robbed,  Lem.    Thieves  at  our  treasure." 

His  eyes  leaped  to  the  fireplace  where  the  gold  was 
hid,  distant  and  in  another  direction  from  the  sound,  and 
shook  his  head.  Again  I  whispered: 

"  I'm  going  to  try  to  kill  him,"  and  eluding  his  hand 
put  out  to  stay  me,  slipped  quietly  into  the  darkness. 
The  next  minute  I  fired,  then  again,  and  a  third  shot. 

"  Hurrah!  "  I  shouted.  "  I  got  him!  Bring  a  light, 
Lem.  I  killed  him!" 

"Oh,  Ted!  You  shouldn't!  Which  one?  Not  the 
kids'  father?  "  With  trembling  hand  that  held  a  torch, 
he  came  running  toward  me. 

"  This  was  never  the  father  of  kids,"  I  reassured  him, 
taking  the  light  to  point  where  the  thief  had  fallen  at  my 

259 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

last  shot,  over  the  edge  of  the  bank  to  a  shelf  of  gravel 
beside  the  creek.  "  They  call  his  children,  if  he  had  any, 
cubs.  Cubs,  Lem;  for  this  robber's  a  bear!  " 

It  was  a  big  brown  bear,  stone  dead.  We  pulled  him 
up  to  the  fire,  a  heavy  load.  Relieved  of  the  dread  that 
I  had  shot  a  human  thief,  Lem  was  exultant  at  the 
roasts,  steaks,  chops  and  stews,  not  to  speak  of  the  fur 
rug,  that  the  beast  represented.  It  was,  as  I  discovered 
when  I  looked,  half-past  three  o'clock,  so  we  gave  over 
any  intention  of  more  sleep  and  I  began  skinning  the 
animal  by  the  light  of  the  fire. 

"  You  had  me  fooled,"  Lem  laughed.  "  But  why  did 
you  say  he  was  a  thief?  What  was  he  stealing? " 

"  Several  pounds  of  salted  lake  trout.  He  emptied 
your  fish-cache,  Lem.  He  was  bolting  the  last  one 
when  I  began  firing." 

Lem  went  with  the  torch  to  find  the  place  dug  up  and 
cleaned  out,  but  I  satisfied  him  that  we  hadn't  lost  any 
thing.  "  The  fish  must  have  been  pretty  ripe  for  bruin 
to  smell  'em,"  I  said.  "  Perhaps  they  didn't  have  enough 
salt,  or  the  ground  was  too  damp.  I'm  sure  they  were 
spoiled  already." 

"  I  prefer  bear  steak,  anyhow,"  Lem  grinned. 

"  Ever  eat  one? "  I  asked,  and  when  he  shook  his  head, 
'  Then  don't  be  too  sure.  Tough?  Bear  steak  is  apt 
to  beat  a  tamarack  board  for  toughness,  and  is  strong- 
tasting  as  your  fish  would  have  been.  But  we'll  try  one 
out  for  breakfast,"  and  I  sliced  off  a  generous  tender^ 

260 


Pocket  of  Gold 

loin  from  near  the  base  of  the  backbone.  While  I  fin 
ished  skinning  and  butchering,  Lem  went  out  and  milked 
Faustina,  then  prepared  breakfast.  The  steak  made  me 
ashamed  of  my  unkind  cut  at  the  bear.  Either  this  was 
a  particularly  tender  bruin,  or  Lem's  frantic  hammering 
of  the  meat  with  the  back  of  the  axe  had  produced  re 
sults.  It  was  quite  eatable. 

Another  day  of  hard  work  at  the  diggings ;  pick  and 
shovel,  shovel  and  pick;  then  haul  dirt  a  while.  I  was 
working  up-stream  from  the  place  of  discovery,  going 
down  to  bed-rock  all  the  way;  and  the  number  of  cubic 
yards  we  dug  out,  carried  up  to  the  sluice  end,  and 
dumped  there,  I  couldn't  tell ;  anyhow,  when  I  switched 
the  water  from  the  box  into  the  ditch  and  began  cleaning 
the  riffles,  we  were  both  dead  tired. 

"  No  such  day  as  yesterday,"  I  said,  before  I  had  gone 
far  along  the  box ;  I  could  tell  by  the  weight  of  the  pan 
that  there  wasn't  as  much  gold  in  the  debris.  "  Must 
have  struck  a  lean  streak  in  the  bottom." 

We  had,  for  when  horned  out  at  the  shack,  there  was 
less  than  half  the  gold  that  had  piled  the  tin  plate  the 
night  before.  Lem's  cheerful: 

"Pretty  good!  Very  fair!  Four  hundred  a  day's 
not  bad,  Ted!  A  year  or  two  on  those  wages,  and  we 
should  worry,"  did  not  satisfy  my  mind  with  the  result. 
I  was  worried  with  the  fear  that  all  the  gold  we'd  caught 
had  run  through  the  sluices  in  the  first  hour  or  so;  that 
we'd  been  feeding  barren  ground  to  the  boxes  the  rest 

261 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

of  the  day.  "  A  pocket " — the  joy  and  despair  of  every 
mining  man — whispered  a  small  voice  at  the  back  of  my 
mind;  the  sink  was  a  pocket;  nearly  emptied  with  our 
first  day's  operations,  we'd  cleaned  it  in  the  opening 
hour  this  morning;  all  the  rest  of  the  bottom  was  plain 
mud. 

I  had  never  tested  except  in  the  one  place;  each  pan 
I  took  out  was  from  the  same  hole,  one  below  the  other. 
Suppose  a  chunk  of  rich  quartz  from  somewhere  far 
back  in  the  mountains  had  been  brought  down  to  the 
curve  and  hammered  to  bits  by  a  flood-current,  the  result 
would  be  a  little  hoard  of  gold  left  there — a  pocket. 
And  there  might  not  be  another  fleck  of  gold  in  the 
creek's  length,  from  mouth  to  source ! 

"  What's  biting  you,  Ted? "  asked  Lem,  as  he  dished 
up  supper.  "  Something's  troubling,  that's  a  cinch. 
Get  it  off  your  chest,  then  go  hard  at  the  bear- 
stew." 

"  I'm  afraid  that  I've  made  a  fool  of  myself,"  I  be 
gan.  "  I'll  not  be  sure  till  to-morrow,  but  you  might 
as  well  be  prepared.  I  think  we've  got  out  all  the  gold 
there  is  on  the  claim,  Lem." 

His  face  fell;  he  whistled  that  low,  shrill,  long  in- 
drawing  breath  of  astonishment;  then  grinned  the  same 
old  grin,  as  he  cried: 

"  And  we  should  bibble,  Ted,  with  ten  or  twelve  hun 
dred  dollars  to  the  good.  I  can  keep  cheerful.  Smile, 
Ted;  smile!" 

262 


Pocket  of  Gold 

I  did.  "  I  may  be  all  wrong  at  that,  Lem.  It  may 
come  to-morrow  richer  than  ever.  There's  the  same 
chance  that  it's  a  sink,  not  a  pocket " 

"  No,  Ted,"  Lem  interrupted,  "  don't  fool  yourself. 
If  it  was  lined  with  gold,  we'd  be  fighting  for  it  yet 
against  Gallup  and  Pardner.  Don't  you  see,  you've 
explained  the  mystery  of  Gallup's  wish  to  trade,  and 
Pardner's  disappearance.  They  found  out,  what  you're 
finding  out  now " 

"  Yes,"  eagerly  breaking  in.  "  They've  sampled  the 
bottom — either  at  night  or  the  morning  we  were  at  the 
cabin — and  found  it  barren.  They  didn't  find  the 
pocket,  because  that  was  under  the  great  pile  of  rocks 
the  stream  brought  down  the  first  time  I  pried  over  the 
dam.  I  saw  it,  noticed  how  the  find  was  covered,  when 
I  lay  on  the  boulder.  That's  it,  Lem.  They  knew  it 
was  a  fluke,  not  worth  a  fight,  and  they  quit.  There's 
no  gold-mine  here,  Lem." 

"  And  no  garden  in  the  wild  rose  patch  below  the 
dam,"  Lem  said  slowly.  That  hit  him  worse  than  the 
loss  of  a  fortune.  "  What  do  we  do  next,  Ted?  " 

"  First  thing,  we'll  do  what  I  should  have  done  in  the 
beginning,  sample  that  ground  thoroughly,  pan  by  pan, 
all  over  the  bottom.  If  gold  isn't  there,  I'll  start  pros 
pecting  the  hills,  just  as  I  intended  in  the  first  place, 
while  you  put  in  your  garden.  We'll  be  here  until  Sep 
tember  anyway." 

Lem  sprang  to  the  packs,  pulled  out  his  envelopes  of 

263 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

garden  seed,  and  spread  them  on  the  table  before  him, 
with: 

"  Bully  for  us!  Peas,  turnips  and  mashed  potatoes! 
Radishes  and  lettuce!  Artichokes  and  mayonnaise! 
Some  little  old  garden-spot,  Ted,  I'll  tell  the  world! 
I'll  begin  clearing  to-morrow — breaking  ground  on  our 
farm!" 


264 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

BACK  TO  BALDY 

THE  clearing  of  the  wild  rose  patch,  that  was  to 
substitute  utility  for  beauty,  edibility  for  fra 
grance,  cabbages  for  pink  blossoms,  was  never 
begun.    Instead,  at  the  hour  when  we  should  have  been 
wielding  axe  and  spade  in  the  first  work  on  the  "  farm," 
a   cavalcade   which   included   the    youthful   gardener, 
Lemuel  P.   Strong,  Zim,  the  charger,  Faustina,  the 
canned-milk  goat,  and  Ted  (short  for  Theodore)  Wil 
son,  was  wending  its  way  from  out  the  valley,  "  Over  the 
hills,  and  far  away." 

265 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

This  somersault  of  plans  was  the  result  of  an  incident 
at  noon.  Lem  and  I  had  come  from  the  dam  to  the 
hut  utterly  discouraged.  All  the  morning  we'd  post- 
holed  and  sampled  the  creek's  bottom,  and  except  for 
one  small  pan,  the  scrapings  of  cracks  and  crevices  at 
the  place  of  discovery  which  washed  out  three  ounces 
or  so,  there  wasn't  a  fleck  of  gold  in  all  its  sands.  My 
find  had  been  a  pocket. 

The  incident — it  was  almost  an  accident — came  after 
dinner,  out  of  Zim's  oat  sack.  I  intended  to  help  Lem 
make  garden,  gathering  the  brush  as  he  slashed,  and 
hauling  it  to  a  bonfire,  using  Zim.  To  catch  Zim,  I 
needed  oats.  I  picked  up  the  sack  to  empty  its  scant 
supply  of  grain  to  the  floor,  and  out  rolled  a  lump  of 
rock  to  tumble  heavily  on  Lem's  thin  shoe.  He  yelped, 
grabbed  his  toe  in  his  hand,  and  danced  around,  with: 

"For  the  love  of  Mike!  That's  not  oats,  Ted;  it's 
lead!" 

"  Not  oats  or  lead,"  I  laughed,  picking  it  up  to  pass 
to  him.  "  It's  float  ore." 

"  And  this  fine  wire  is  gold?  "  He  was  looking  the 
specimen  over  eagerly. 

"  It  is,"  I  said,  and  told  him  of  its  finding  at  Ophir 
Creek.  "  I'd  hunt  for  the  ledge  it  came  from,  if  it  wasn't 
on  Baldly,"  I  finished. 

'  What's  your  deep-set  grudge  against  Old  Baldy? " 
he  asked. 

"Too  dry.   No  water." 

266 


Back  to  Baldy 

"  You  mean  it  hasn't  any  creeks  like  this  one  here?  " 

"  No  creek,  no  stream,  no  spring,  no  well;  nothing  wet 
most  the  year,  not  even  dew.  Nothing  there  but  gold, 
sage  and  mesquite." 

"Mesquite?"  Lem's  tone  was  reminiscent.  "What 
do  I  know  about  mesquite? " 

"  Maybe  the  fact  that  it  tears  your  clothes  to  frazzles 
if  you  get  into  it,"  I  laughed.  "  There's  nothing  pleas 
ant  to  know.  Usually  it's  low  brush,  but  there  are  trees 
at  one  place  on  Baldy.  Giant  mesquites." 

"  Giant  mesquites ! "  Lem's  echo  of  my  words  was 
almost  a  shout.  "  That's  it,  Ted !  That's  what  I  know ! 
Giant  mesquites  are  water." 

"  Water?  How  do  you  mean?  "  I  thought  the  boy 
was  mad. 

"  Under  'em ;  water  in  the  ground ;  wells,  springs, 
underground  creeks.  Why,  Ted,  there's  water  on 
Baldy,"  and  he  grabbed  my  arms  and  began  waltzing 
me  around  the  little  shack.  I  pulled  away,  crying 
sharply: 

"You're  crazy,  Lem!  Stop  it!  Tell  me  what  you 
know — or  think  you  know.  Mesquites  have  nothing  to 
do  with  water.  They  grow  where  there's  no  sign  of 
water.  On  the  desert,  even." 

"Yes,  but  they  don't  grow  big  there;  just  little 
scrubs."  Lem  stopped  his  gyrations,  but  still  talked 
quickly,  excitedly,  his  eyes  shining  like  coals  of  fire. 
"  Mesquites  have  a  tap-root  that  they  send  down  deep 

267 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

hunting  wet — way  deeper  than  most  vegetables.  And 
that  tap-root  finds  whatever  dampness  there  is.  And 
if  there  isn't  much,  or  it's  miles  down,  the  mesquite  grows 
just  a  little,  maybe  not  two  feet  high.  But  if  there's 
plenty  of  water,  close  down,  they  grow  big.  If  they're 
giant  mesquites,  it  means  that  there's  lots  of  water  close 
to  the  top  of  the  ground." 

"  Where  did  you  learn  all  this? "  I  asked  dubiously. 
I'd  known  mesquite  all  my  life  arid  I  never  heard  any 
such  freak-pranks  of  the  bush. 

"  Pon  Sing  told  it  to  old  Wayne " 

"Wayne?  He  knows  this?"  The  mystery  of  the 
hotel  man's  interest  in  the  Black  Boulder  came  clear  in 
a  breath. 

"  The  Chinaman  told  him  all  about  it.  I  was  in  the 
dining-room,  and  they  were  talking  in  the  kitchen,  but 
the  door  was  open.  They  didn't  know  I  was  there,  I 
guess.  Pon  had  learned  about  mesquite  when  he  worked 
down  in  Arizona,  and  Wayne  was  asking  all  sorts  of 
questions.  It  was  interesting,  so  I  listened  in." 

'  They  didn't  say  anything  about  my  claim — or 
Baldy?" 

"Not  a  word;  all  about  mesquites.  Wayne  knew 
some  that  were  forty  or  fifty  feet  high " 

"  They're  the  ones!  They're  up  the  gully  that's  my 
sluice  trail  in  the  spring  thaws,  Lem.  I  found  them 
when  I  came  over  here."  The  memory  of  footprints,  of 
broken  and  cut  branches  of  the  mesquite,  of  one  perfect 

268 


Back  to  Baldy 

impress  of  a  foot — of  a  Chinaman's  flat,  heelless  clog! 
It  all  came  back  to  me.  Wayne's  Chinese  had  been  to 
the  mesquites.  Why,  it  was  he  who  had  followed  me  on 
horseback  down  the  trail  when  I  came  to  Jamesville 
from  off  the  claim. 

"  Lem,"  I  said  hurriedly,  "  you  remember  telling  me 
that  Pon  Sing  came  in  from  Crescent  Mills  on  a  horse, 
bringing  potatoes,  the  night  I  got  back  from  Baldy? " 

"  Sure;  Crescent  is  where  he  said  he'd  been;  and  he 
had  a  sack  of  something  heavy.  I  put  up  his  horse,  and 
saw  him  shoulder  it  off  the  saddle." 

"  Dirt  from  my  claim — the  Black  Boulder.  A  sample. 
He'd  been  up  there  to  see  the  mesquite  and  look  over 
my  diggings.  Then  Wayne  tried  to  buy  it — for  noth 
ing!  And  maybe  he  has,  now — for  almost  nothing.  I 
told  Mother  Laing  to  sell  it  to  him.  Lem,  we've  got 
to  get  back  to  Baldy — get  back  quick !  " 

"  Go  bring  Zim,  while  I  put  the  stuff  together."  Lem 
was  instantly  at  work.  Gathering  up  the  oats  hurriedly 
in  my  hands,  I  started  from  the  hut,  to  be  stopped  by 
Lem's  question,  thrown  at  me,  "  Are  these  big  mesquites 
on  your  claim,  Ted?  " 

That  halted  me  like  a  shot.  "  No,"  I  answered,  anx 
iously,  "  above  my  claim,  in  the  gully  that  works  my 
sluices.  Wayne  probably  owns  that  gully  now.  At 
least  he's  filed  water-rights  on  it." 

"  Can  he  keep  you  from  using  the  water? " 

"  He  can.  If  it's  a  well — and  that's  what  it  would  be, 

269 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

I  suppose — it'll  be  his  to  do  with  as  he  pleases.  But  it 
won't  be  any  use  to  him  without  my  claim;  or  my  claim 
without  his  water." 

"  Well,  dig  up  Zim — and  Faustina.  We'll  pack  and 
hike,  as  Gallup  says.  Wonder  how  he  learned  about 
those  mesquites." 

I  couldn't  answer,  but  all  the  while  I  was  luring  Zim 
close  enough  to  grab  the  hackamore,  leading  him  with 
Faustina  bleating  behind  to  the  lean-to,  I  was  puzzling 
over  the  question.  Gallup  wanted  the  Black  Boulder 
as  Wayne  wanted  it;  was  it  because  of  the  giant  mes 
quites? 

This  was  our  good-bye  to  the  Hot  Biscuit  claim,  to 
the  lean-to  hut,  to  the  dam  with  its  useless  sluices,  the 
quail-cage  and  twitch-ups,  the  stream,  the  redwoods  and 
Sentinel  Rock.  As  we  packed  the  horse  with  the  sup 
plies  and  tools,  we  were  both  silent  and  sad.  We  had 
loved  the  valley,  even  though  we'd  gone  through  battle 
and  strife  to  hold  it — loved  it  more,  perhaps,  because 
of  that.  We  turned  from  it,  climbed  its  steep  southern 
rim,  headed  down  the  lake,  with  sorrow  in  our  hearts 
that  we  must  leave  it  all.  Lem,  who  could  see  the  bright 
side  of  everything,  voiced  the  first  hopeful  thought: 

"  Old  Baldy,  with  water  running  on  it  all  the  year, 
will  be  as  green  and  cheerful  as  this,  Ted.  And  I  can 
have  a  garden  there,  same  as  the  farm  here,  can't 
I?" 

"  If  we  get  the  water,  anything'll  grow  there.  It's 

270 


Back  to  Baldy 


good  soil.  You  can  spade  up  Black  Boulder  below  the 
sluices  and  have  as  big  a  garden  as  you  want." 

After  that  we  went  on  more  happily,  passing  the  de 
serted  cabin  late  in  the  afternoon,  came  to  the  end  of  the 
lake  and  turned  into  the  Jamesville  trail.  There  would 
be  a  moon  that  had  thickened  from  a  cheese-rind  to  a 
slice  of  watermelon  in  the  last  few  nights,  and  I  pro 
posed  to  Lem  that  we  keep  right  on  till  we  struck  Ophir 
Creek,  get  a  few  hours'  sleep  at  my  old  camping-ground, 
then  take  the  hog-back  for  Baldy.  By  forced  marches, 
we  could  make  the  Black  Boulder  at  noon;  and  I  could 
get  into  Jamesville,  see  Mother  Laing,  and  learn  what 
she  had  done  about  selling  the  claim,  that  evening. 

So  we  ate  a  cold  supper  in  one  of  the  rest-halts,  and 
moved  on  as  rapidly  as  Faustina  would  permit,  she  be 
ing  the  weak  link  in  our  marching  schedule.  She  set 
the  pace;  she  determined  when  we  should  stop  for  a  rest. 
I  have  always  believed  that  the  burro  was  the  most  ob 
stinate  animal  in  the  world ;  that  night  I  placed  the  goat 
on  his  pedestal  in  the  hall  of  fame.  Faustina  was  a  law 
unto  herself. 

It  was  nearly  two  o'clock  of  a  still,  windless  morning 
when  we  came  into  sight  of  my  rock-bed  on  the  edge  of 
Ophir,  to  be  stopped  by  a  gruff  call  of: 

"Halt  where  you  are!  Hands  up — quick  now!" 
And  the  next  moment  Lem  and  I  were  pointing  our 
arms  at  the  crescent  moon,  while  with  frightened  eyes 
we  watched  a  black  shadow  spring  from  the  pine-branch 

271 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

bed,  caught  the  glint  of  light  on  blued-steel  in  the  hand 
that  pointed  toward  us,  and  heard: 

"  Keep  your  hands  way  high,  and  step  forward  where 
I  can  see  you.  Come  on,  gentleman,  but  come  carefully, 
slowly.  No  foolishness,  or  I'll  drop  you  in  your  tracks." 


272 


CHAPTER  XXV 

GIANT  MESQUITES 

R.  BURCHARD ! " 

"What— you?  Ted  Wilson!" 
In  the  instant,  mutual  recognition,  my 
arms  came  down  from  above  my  head  to  have  both  hands 
grasped  warmly  by  my  friend  of  the  night  at  this  same 
point  on  Ophir  Creek,  almost  a  month  before;  and  Mr. 
Burchard  let  out  a  roar  of  laughter,  to  which  Lem  and 
I  added  a  rather  shaky  tremolo. 

"  You  scared  me  most  out  of  my  wits,  Ted,"  cried 
Mr.  Burchard.     "  I  thought  you  was — was  somebody 

273 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

I'm  looking  for — and  you  were  right  on  top  of  me 
fore  I  woke.  Let's  have  a  fire — and  talk."  He  began 
the  building,  while  Lem  and  I  took  the  packs  off  Zim, 
happy  enough  to  find  a  friend  in  the  shadow  upon  the 
rock. 

When  we'd  tethered  the  animals  up-creek,  we  came 
back  to  find  Mr.  Burchard,  still  chuckling,  with  a  coffee 
pot  over  the  flames,  and  a  skillet  laden  with  brook  trout 
ready  to  go  on  as  soon  as  there  were  embers  enough. 
He  greeted  our  reappearance  with: 

"  What's  the  reason  for  the  night  march,  Ted?  You 
boys  must  want  to  get  somewhere  in  a  hurry." 

'  We  do."  I  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  rock-bed. 
"  This  is  my  partner,  Lem  Strong,  Mr.  Burchard." 
They  shook  hands,  shrewd  eyes  meeting  keen  eyes  in  the 
fire-glow.  "  We're  hustling  back  to  the  Black  Boulder 
claim  on  Baldy." 

"  It  hasn't  moved  an  inch  since  you  left  it,"  he 
laughed.  "  It's  sticking  tight  to  the  side  of  the  hill,  and 
it  would  have  been  there  if  you'd  hiked  daytimes  and 
slept  nights,  like  ordinary  folks,  instead  of  giving  me  the 
fright  of  my  life.  I  suppose  if  I  hadn't  woke  up  just  as 
I  did,  you'd  have  crawled  into  bed  with  me." 

"  Perhaps.  And  rnaybe  you  believe  we  weren't 
scared.  I  thought  when  you  called  '  Hands  up ! '  that 
you  certainly  were  Pardner." 

"  Pardner?  "  echoed  Mr.  Burchard,  questioning. 

"  Gallup's  Pardner — Red — we  don't  know  his  name, 

274 


Giant  Mesquites 

but   he — they — tried    to   steal    our    claim    on    Eagle 
Lake." 

Mr.  Burchard  set  down  the  frying-pan  he  was  hold 
ing  over  the  fire,  turned  grave  eyes  to  me,  and  asked 
soberly : 

"  What's  it  all  about,  Ted?    Who  is  this  Red? " 

So  I  told  him,  as  briefly  as  I  could,  the  story  of  our 
fight  with  the  claim- jumpers,  while  Lem,  seeing  that 
supper — or  breakfast — would!  never  progress  in  Mr. 
Burchard's  hands,  took  charge  of  the  skillet,  coffee-pot 
and  fire;  and  when  I'd  finished,  we  began  answering 
questions,  describing  Red  carefully  to  an  intensely  in 
terested  Mr.  Burchard. 

"  He's  the  man  I  thought  you  were,  Ted,  when  I 
pointed  the  revolver  at  you  a  few  minutes  ago,"  said 
Mr.  Burchard.  "  He's  the  reason  I'm  here  in  the  moun 
tains.  I've  been  hunting  Red  for  nearly  six  weeks,  and 
this  is  the  best  line  on  him  I've  had  yet." 

"  What's  he  done? "  I  asked  quickly. 

"  Escaped  from  the  State's  Prison  at  Folsom " 

"  Sure!  I  know — that's  it!"  Lem  had  jumped  to 
his  feet  and  was  waving  the  frying-pan  to  the  great 
danger  of  its  contents.  "  I  told  you  I'd  seen  him  be 
fore,  Ted.  He's  a  murderer — he  killed  a  man." 

"  Man-slaughter — not  murder,"  Mr.  Burchard  cor 
rected,  as  I  rescued  the  skillet  from  Lem's  excited  hand. 
"  A  thirty  year  sentence  for  homicide.  I  am  a  prison 
guard,  detailed  to  hunt  him  down." 

275 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  And  he  was  sent  up  the  same  day  I  was.  He  came 
from  the  court  room  almost  at  my  side.  They  put  him 
in  the  Black  Maria — the  prison  van,  while  old  Wayne 
was  taking  me  to  the  street  car.  That's  where  I  saw 
him  before,"  and  Lem  stopped  abruptly  at  the  curious 
look  the  prison  guard  gave  him.  Anxiously  I  waited 
the  question,  and  it  came: 

"  What  were  you  sent  up  for,  please?  " 

"  Incorrig'ble  delinkency,"  promptly,  but  subdued. 

"  And  Wayne?    What  had  he  to  do  with  it? " 

"  I  was  sentenced  by  the  Juvenile  Court  to  a  year's 
service  with  Wayne." 

"  Red  is  Wayne's  brother — Red  Wayne,  or  as  it  once 
was,  George  Wayne."  Things  were  becoming  clear; 
the  Wayne  brothers  both  knew  of  the  mesquites;  were 
working  together  to  get  my  claim.  But  I  was  too  anx 
ious  for  Lem  to  think  much  of  that  just  then.  Mr. 
Burchard  had  another  question.  "  Your  term  is  not  up 
yet,  Strong? " 

"  No.  I'm  a  runaway — an  escape."  There  was  no 
backing  away  from  the  truth.  Quietly,  in  a  voice  that 
trembled  a  little,  Lem  said  it  all. 

The  trout  were  smoking  in  the  pan  I  was  supposed 
to  be  watching;  the  coffee  was  gurgling  through  the 
snout.  It  was  Mr.  Burchard  who  brought  me  to  a  reali 
zation  of  my  duties  with  a  sharp : 

"Look  out,  Ted!  Don't  burn  those  fish!"  and 
quickly  I  took  them  from  the  fire,  and  rescued  the  coif ee. 

276 


Giant  Mesquitcs 

When  the  prison  guard  had  seen  them  safely  landed  on 
top  of  the  rock,  he  said  to  Lem,  "  You  will  consider 
yourself  in  my  charge  for  the  present.  Wayne,  I  be 
lieve,  is  implicated  in  his  brother's  escape  and  not  a  fit 
man  to  be  in  custody  of  a  ward  of  the  court.  Will  you 
give  me  your  word  to  do  as  I  order  and  make  no  attempt 
at  escape,  Lem? " 

"  Yes,  sir;  I  will." 

'  Very  well.  Let's  eat,"  and  two  subdued  boys,  one 
an  escaped  prisoner,  the  other  "  implicated  "  and  "  not  a 
fit  man,"  sat  down  with  the  representative  of  law  and 
order,  in  the  guise  of  Mr.  Frank  Burchard,  prison 
guard,  to  a  late  night  supper,  or  an  early  morning  break 
fast.  For  a  time  no  one  spoke,  though  knives  and  forks 
were  wielded  briskly;  then  I  began,  rather  huskily,  to 
make  an  explanation. 

"  It  was  like  this,  Mr.  Burchard,"  I  said.  "  It  was 
just  awful,  being  under  Wayne  there  at  the  hotel,  and 
he  treated  Lem — brutally;  cuffed  him,  beat  him,  locked 
him  in  his  room.  I  was  Lem's  best  friend — his  chum, 
kind  of — and  then  I  went  away,  and  that  made  it  harder 
for  him.  So  he  came,  and  joined  me  on  Eagle 
Lake." 

"All  right,  Ted;  don't  worry.  I'll  look  after  him 
now,  and  without  cuffings,  beatings  or  lockings-up.  I 
think  I've  the  idea  of  what  happened  at  the  Gilson 
House.  I've  been  stopping  with  Wayne  off  and  on, 
lately,  and  I've  learned  to  know  him." 

277 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  Was  it  you  at  the  old  cabin  on  the  lake? "  I  asked 
eagerly,  relieved  by  the  kindly  tone  and  reassurance  of 
the  guard's  words. 

"  I  was  there  several  days  last  week.  Came  up  to 
your  camp  once " 

"  The  day  of  the  battle! "  I  broke  in.  "  Pardner— 
Red  Wayne — saw  you  and  ran!  I  saw  you,  too,  but  the 
leaves  of  the  lilac  were  in  the  way,  and  I  caught  only  a 
glimpse.  Didn't  you  hear  me  call  after  you? " 

"  Not  a  call.  My  horse  was  hidden  in  the  rocks,  and 
I  rode  away  before  you  came  within  hail,  probably.  I 
saw  the  light  of  a  big  fire  there  the  night  before " 

"  They  had  one  to  guard  the  dam,"  again  I  inter 
rupted. 

"  I  had  the  idea  it  was  you,  Ted,  but  I  went  up  there 
next  day  to  make  sure.  No  one  was  at  the  hut,  or  in 
sight  from  it,  so  I  went  through  the  packs  there,  and 
discovered  your  shovel  among  the  tools.  I'd  seen  it  the 
evening  we  camped  here  together,  and  when  I  recog 
nized  it  again,  I  thought  there  was  no  use  bothering 
more  on  your  claim,  so  rode  away.  Of  course,  I  was 
hiding,  hunting  for  Red  Wayne." 

"  Well,  he  saw  you  then,  and  we  haven't  seen  him 
since.  Lem  thinks  he's  still  running  away  over  the 
peaks  of  the  high  Sierras." 

"  Too  bad,  but  it's  my  own  fault,"  Mr.  Burchard 
admitted.  "  If  I'd  opened  up  a  little  to  you  the  night 
we  camped  here,  I'd  probably  be  taking  Red  Wayne 

278 


Giant  Mesquites 

back  to  Folsom  now.    I'll  get  after  him  again  to-mor 


row." 


"  And  Lem — and  me?  "  I  was  anxious  to  know  what 
our  captor  proposed  to  do  with  us. 

"  I'll  place  Lem  in  your  charge  for  the  present.  That 
is,  if  you,  Lem,  will  promise  not  to  make  another  es 
cape?  " 

"  Will  I?  "  gladly.  "  I'll  promise  to  stick  to  Ted  like 
a  porous-plaster." 

"  You'll  hear  from  me  soon — just  as  quick  as  I  can 
get  a  letter  down  to  the  judge  who  sentenced  you,  Lem, 
and  an  answer  back.  Now  I'll  hit  the  blankets  for  an 
other  hour  or  two  of  sleep.  Room  for  us  all  on  the 
rock,  boys." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Burchard,  we'll  start  right  on  up 
the  hog-back  for  the  Black  Boulder." 

;<  Which  reminds  me,"  said  the  prison  guard  suddenly. 
"  I  gave  your  message  to  Mrs.  Laing,  and  she  gave  one 
for  you,  should  we  meet  up  again.  She  said  Wayne  had 
offered  a  thousand  dollars  for  your  claim  on  Baldy." 

"And  she  accepted  it?"  I  asked,  my  heart  drop 
ping  down  into  my  boots. 

"  No.  She  can't  sell,  even  if  she  wanted  to,  and  I 
judged  by  her  talk  she  didn't." 

"  But  I  told  her  she  could,"  I  said,  puzzled. 

Mr.  Burchard  laughed.  "  She  isn't  your  legal  guard 
ian,  Ted,  and  it  would  mean  a  court  order  and  all  sorts 
of  technicalities  before  you  could  sell  your  claim." 

279 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  I  don't  want  to  sell  now,"  I  cried  happily,  and  we 
said  good-bye  to  the  prison  guard,  he  rolling  up  again 
in  his  blankets,  while  we  struck  out,  after  placing  the 
packs  once  more  on  Zim's  saddle,  up  the  ridge  that  con 
nected  Summer's  Peak  with  Old  Baldy.  It  was  just 
coming  daylight  as  we  crossed  Ophir  Creek.  For  a  time 
we  traveled  in  silence,  then  Lem  said: 

"  He's  sure  a  white  man,  Ted!  "    And  I  answered: 

"  He  sure  is,  Lem." 

The  sun  came  up  in  pink  and  gold;  climbed  higher 
to  warm  us ;  higher  still  to  make  us  pant  and  perspire. 
With  frequent  halts  that  Zim  might  be  relieved  of  his 
packs,  and  Faustina  allowed  to  graze  the  already 
browned  herbage  of  the  dry  hill  slope,  we  came  at  about 
ten  o'clock  to  where  my  eye  could  pick  from  the  many 
clumps  of  mesquite,  the  darker  green  of  the  tree-tops 
that  lifted  above  the  rim  of  the  gully.  Here  we  turned 
off  the  hog-back  and  made  a  detour  so  that  we  would 
strike  the  ravine  above  the  place  of  the  giant  mesquites, 
for  I  had  determined  to  investigate  the  matter  of  water, 
and  Wayne's  probable  activities  in  the  gully,  before  go 
ing  to  the  Black  Boulder. 

We  kept  carefully  from  sight  of  a  chance  watcher, 
either  on  the  gully's  edge  or  at  the  claim,  going  as  much 
of  the  way  as  possible  in  the  draws  and  defiles,  keeping 
behind  the  manzanita  on  the  crests  of  the  rises,  and  at 
last  struck  the  ravine  of  the  mesquites  a  half  mile  above 
the  trees,  took  the  packs  off  Zim,  and  tethered  both 

280 


Giant  Mesquites 

animals  where  they  could  feed.  Then  Lem  and  I 
worked  our  way  along  the  rim  of  the  cut,  single  file,  I 
leading  with  the  rifle,  and  had  not  gone  half  the  distance 
when  we  heard  the  blows  of  a  pick  borne  up  to  us  from 
the  gully.  I  squirmed  through  brush  to  a  position  where 
I  could  look  through  the  foliage  to  see  two  Chinamen 
at  work  under  the  trees,  sinking  a  shaft.  A  third  man 
was  in  the  pit,  filling  the  bucket  with  dirt  to  be  lifted 
on  rope  and  windlass.  At  the  crank  was  Wayne's  Pon. 
The  sing-song  chatter  of  Chinese  came  to  us  as  they 
worked. 

Lem  touched  my  arm,  motioned  to  me,  and  silently 
we  crept  back  and  away  to  the  animals.  "  Get  down 
to  your  claim,  quick  as  we  can,"  he  advised,  speaking 
low.  "  Wayne  wouldn't  be  paying  a  crew  like  that  to 
dig  a  well  unless  he  had — or  thought  he  had — a  cinch 
on  the  Black  Boulder.  Looks  like  another  scrap,  Ted." 

"  He  wouldn't  dare,"  I  said.  "  This  isn't  the  middle 
of  the  wilderness.  You  can  see  the  tops  of  Jamesville's 
houses  down  there.  He  owns  the  water  rights,  I  haven't 
a  doubt,  and  maybe  he'll  sell  to  me  at  a  fancy  price;  or 
try  to  force  me  to  sell  the  claim;  but  this  won't  be  a 
shooting  affair,  Lem." 

We  had  made  a  detour  and  approached  my  shack 
from  above,  to  stop  suddenly  when  it  came  into  view, 
halted  by  another  scene  of  activity.  Here  it  was  Gallup 
and  Pardner,  the  lawyer  trundling  a  wheelbarrow  from 
a  pile  of  gravel  at  the  diggings  that  Pardner  was  shovel- 

281 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

ing  higher,  to  a  second  heap  at  the  upper  end  of  the 
sluice-box.  If  they  were  not  working  the  claim,  they 
were  certainly  preparing  to  do  so  the  minute  water  was 
struck,  getting  pay-dirt  out  and  up  to  send  through  the 
sluices.  I  looked  at  them,  then  at  Lem,  a  wondering 
question: 

"  What  do  you  suppose  they  think  they're  doing? " 

Lem's  reply  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  query.  His 
face  broke  into  a  broad  grin,  as  he  said: 

"  Gee!  I'm  glad  Mr.  Burchard  showed  us  how  to 
do  it,  Ted!"  He  was  fumbling  with  quick  fingers  at 
Zim's  pack.  "  You  stay  right  here  and  hold  the  horse. 
Come  when  I  call,"  and  he  started  running  down  the 
slope  toward  the  men,  my  father's  old  army  revolver  in 
his  fist.  I  looked  for  a  place  to  tie  Zim,  but  nothing  was 
at  hand,  so  laid  the  end  of  the  halter  rope  on  the  ground 
and  quickly  set  a  rock  upon  it ;  then  pumping  a  cartridge 
into  the  rifle,  started  to  catch  up  with  Lem.  Even  as  I 
sprang  forward,  I  heard  his  shout: 

"  Hands  up — quick  now!  "  It  had  the  sharp,  certain 
ring  of  a  bugle-call,  authoritative,  positive,  not  to  be 
questioned;  the  echo  of  the  prison  guard's  command  of 
the  night;  then,  "  Come  on,  gentlemen,  but  come  care 
fully,  slowly.  No  foolishness,  or  I'll  drop  you  in  your 
tracks!" 

Running  at  the  top  of  my  speed,  I  rounded  the  dump 
to  see  Red  Wayne  and  Lawyer  Gallup,  hands  held  high 
above  their  heads,  looking  down  the  barrel  of  a  pistol- 

282 


Giant  Mesquites 

shotgun,  loaded  with  an  ounce  of  bird-shot.  But  there 
was  no  tremble  in  the  hand  that  held  the  weapon,  as 
Lem  said  to  me: 

"  Get  ropes  and  tie  Red  Wayne.  They  want  him  at 
Folsom  prison.  You,  Gallup,  are  wanted  at  Susanville 
by  a  couple  of  cutie  kids  and  a  wife  that's  too  good  for 
you.  Start — and  start  quick!  " 

The  lawyer,  his  Adam's  apple  working  fitfully  in  his 
throat,  waited  for  no  second  permission.  Before  I  could 
truss  Red  Wayne  with  the  lariat,  Gallup  was  headed 
home. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

WAYNE  MAKES  HIS  LAST  BID 

WE  planned  that  I  should  take  our  prisoner,  now 
tied  tight  on  a  bunk  in  the  shack,  down  to 
Jamesville  on  Zim's  back  that  afternoon,  turn 
him  over  to  the  town  marshal,  see  Mother  Laing,  learn 
just  where  I  stood  on  the  claim,  and  come  back  by  moon 
light.    But  things  happened  too  fast  for  plans  to  become 
facts.     While  Lem  and  I  were  at  dinner,  wondering 
whether  we'd  dare  untie  Pardner's  hands,  or  must  feed 
him  like  a  baby  out  of  a  spoon,  there  came  a  jabber  and 
clatter  on  the  sluice- trail.     Lem  sprang  up  instantly, 

284 


Wayne  Makes  His  Last  Bid 

grabbed  the  revolver,  darted  inside  the  hut,  and  closed 
its  door  behind  him. 

Pon  Sing  and  his  two  compatriots,  tools  over  shoul 
ders,  hurried  down  to  me,  with  an  excited  medley  of 
Chinese  and  English,  out  of  which  I  gathered  that  they 
must  see  "  Miste'  Led  "  at  once.  I  waved  them  to  keep 
back,  shouting  in  the  Pidgin-English  of  the  mining 
camps : 

"  Mister  Red,  him  not  here,"  indicating  the  imme 
diate  neighborhood  with  a  gesture.  "  This  my  claim, 
you  sabbe.  No  Mister  Red." 

"  Whe'  him  Miste'  Glallup? "  Pon  asked  quickly. 

"  Him,  Mr.  Gallup,  go  Susanville.  Him  hully-up  go. 
This  my  claim.  You  get  off;  get  off  hully-up  quick! 
You  sabbe,  quick? " 

Pon  did  sabbe  quick,  for  with  a  glance  at  the  closed 
shack,  a  phrase  or  two  of  his  native  sing-song,  he  led  off 
down  the  Jamesville  trail  at  a  shuffling  trot.  Lem  came 
from  the  hut,  lowered  the  hammer  of  the  ancient  weapon 
carefully,  placed  it  on  the  rock  beside  the  coffee-pot,  say 
ing: 

"  It's  the  size  of  the  hole  in  the  end  of  the  gun.  It's  so 
big  that  he  thinks  he  can  see  a  pound  or  two  of  bullets 
down  it.  Pardner's  more  scared  of  it  than  he  was  of  the 
rifle,  Ted." 

"  What  did  you  do,  gag  him?  I  expected  to  hear  him 
yell  out  to  Pon  every  second." 

"  Kept  the  hole  in  the  end  of  it  under  his  nose  where 

285 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

He  looked  cross-eyed  into  it.  Told  him  I  was  nervous 
and  would  probably  jerk  if  he  let  a  squeak  out  of  him. 
The  gun  was  cocked." 

"  Then  we  can  let  him  feed  himself  while  you  stand 

over  him  with  the  pistol What's  that  noise?  "  I 

had  been  hearing  it  for  perhaps  a  minute,  but  not  to  give 
it  conscious  thought. 

"  Wind  in  the  trees,"  Lem  replied  promptly,  but  I 
shook  my  head.  There  were  no  trees,  no  wind;  and  it 
was  getting  louder,  a  roaring,  in  which  now  I  could  hear 
the  pounding  of  rock  against  rock.  I  leaped  to  my  feet, 
shouting: 

"Water — water  in  the  gully!  They've  struck  it, 
Lem!  A  flood's  in  the  sluice-trail!"  And  I  started 
running  for  the  head  of  the  boxes.  Before  I  had  made 
half  way,  a  yellow  crest  of  foam-capped  water,  bearing 
logs  and  branches  from  the  gully's  bottom,  broke  from 
the  narrow  ravine  to  hurl  itself  against  my  sluices,  ham 
mering  and  pounding  with  a  force  that  threatened  to 
smash  them  to  splinters. 

"  Get  shovels — quick ! "  I  yelled  at  Lem.  "  We  must 
widen  the  ditch!  "  And  I  began  tearing  with  my  hands 
at  the  grizzly,  loosening  the  stones  that  barred  the 
water's  way.  In  a  moment,  Lem  tossed  me  a  pick,  arid 
up  to  my  waist  in  the  flood,  I  fought  beside  him  to  give 
passageway  for  the  swift  current.  Happy?  Yes,  if 
every  chip  and  splinter  of  my  works  were  washed  away, 
even  the  house,  I  should  still  be  winner;  winner  a  thou- 

286 


Wayne  Makes  His  Last  Bid 

sand  times!  But  after  the  first  few  minutes,  after  the 
flood  from  the  held-back  waters,  piled  high  by  debris  in 
the  narrow  gulch,  had  subsided,  there  was  no  danger. 
A  stream  was  flowing  down  through  my  ditch  and 
sluices,  a  fair  sized  creek  that  spouted  merrily  from  the 
end  of  the  boxes. 

"  Why,  it's  almost  as  big  as  our  creek  at  Hot  Bis 
cuit!  "  Lem  puffed,  as  he  worked  his  way  to  me  at  the 
grizzly. 

"  It's  plenty  big  for  all  our  uses,  Lem;  and  the  best 
of  it  is  that  Wayne  can't  keep  it  back  from  us.  He 
may  own  it,  but  he  can't  harness  it." 

"  Couldn't  he  build  a  dam  across  the  gully? "  Lem 
asked  anxiously. 

"  Sure;  and  when  the  water  rose  to  top  the  dam,  it 
would  come  piling  merrily  along  to  chase  through  our 
sluices.  No,  Lem,  Wayne  hasn't  a  chance  with  this 
stream.  If  he'd  caught  a  well,  he'd  have  had  me ;  could 
have  charged  me  whatever  he  pleased  for  water;  but  this 
flows,  and  there's  no  other  way  for  it  to  flow  but  through 
the  Black  Boulder  claim." 

"  Where's  the  garden,  Ted?  "  Lem  was  bright-eyed, 
eager.  "  How  much  water  do  I  get  for  my  farm?  " 

I  pointed  to  the  spouting  flume-end.  "  All  that  is 
yours,  Lem;  all  the  ground  you  can  break  is  garden. 
Make  it  as  big  as  you  want,  there's  water  to  irrigate  it. 
No,  don't  thank  me;  thank  old  Wayne." 

Lem  bowed  with  elaborate  and  sarcastic  politeness  in 

287 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

the  direction  of  Jamesville,  the  Gilson  House,  and 
Wayne  the  hotel  man.  We  could  not  know  and  did  not 
guess  that  the  man  whose  unwilling  favor  Lem  was  so 
graciously  accepting  was  on  the  way  to  the  Black  Boul 
der  with  a  less  pleasant  offering  for  his  runaway  ward ; 
nor  that  I  would  have  passed  him  on  the  narrow  trail, 
leading  his  brother  a  captive,  had  I  started,  as  I  in 
tended,  then.  Fate  was  looking  after  Lem  and  me  that 
day,  for  when  I  went  to  get  Zim,  he  wasn't  to  be  found. 
Either  he  had  suffered  another  attack  of  homesickness, 
or  had  been  frightened  by  the  noise  of  the  rushing  flood, 
so  unusual  on  dry  Baldy,  for  I  hunted  him  high  and  low 
for  an  hour  or  more,  and  never  had  a  glimpse  of  him. 

When  I  came  back,  tired  and  hot,  it  was  too  late  in 
the  afternoon  to  consider  starting  out  on  foot.  We  de 
termined  to  keep  our  prisoner  tied  and  locked  in  the 
shack,  take  turns  guarding  him,  and  start  him  prison- 
ward  at  sunrise. 

We  ate  supper  beside  the  flume,  now  flowing  quietly 
enough,  fed  Pardner,  rebound  him  carefully  in  the  bunk, 
made  him  as  comfortable  as  possible  with  a  blanket 
around  him,  tied  on,  and  prepared  ourselves  for  the 
night.  As  the  glowing  lamps  of  Jamesville  sprang  up 
one  after  the  other,  making  the  town  and  my  home  seem 
so  close  to  me,  I  began  to  get  homesick  for  Mother 
Laing,  her  cozy  sitting-room,  the  fire  in  the  chimney, 
the  comfort  of  the  shaded  lamp.  We  had  a  fire  going, 
and  blankets  spread  beside  it.  Lem  who  had  the  late 

288 


Wayne  Makes  His  Last  Bid 

watch  was  pulling  off  his  much-battered  shoes,  ready  to 
pile  in,  when  I  heard  horses'  hoofs  on  the  trail. 

"  Somebody's  coming,"  I  said  quickly,  and  Lem  be 
gan  relacing  his  clogs.  "  You'd  better  duck  into  the 
shack  until  we  find  out  who  it  is.  There  are  two  horses." 

Lem  started  a  dash  for  the  hut,  but  I  stopped  him. 
"  No  hurry.  It'll  be  half  an  hour  before  they  get  here. 
Don't  forget  the  big-holed  pistol,  Lem,"  and  I  looked 
over  the  rifle  to  see  that  it  was  loaded  and  ready. 

"  Wouldn't  you  be  safer  away  from  that  firelight? " 
Lem  whispered,  after  listening  a  time  to  the  slow  ap 
proach  in  the  night. 

"  No.  There'll  be  no  shooting-trouble  here.  Who 
ever  it  is,  and  whatever  trouble  he  brings,  it  will  be  law 
ful  enough.  You  have  the  only  outlaw  in  the  shack. 
I'll  risk  you  to  see  he  doesn't  start  anything." 

Lem  left  me.  I  heard  the  quiet  closing  of  the  hut 
door,  then  the  murmur  of  his  voice  in  short,  terse  sen 
tences.  He  was  telling  Red  Wayne  how  quiet  he  must 
keep.  The  horses  were  nearing.  As  they  turned  the  last 
switchback  of  the  trail,  I  could  see  them  and  their  riders 
silhouetted  against  the  moonlit  sky. 

"Hello,  there!  "I  shouted. 

"  Whoa! "  The  shadows  stopped  abruptly.  "  Is  that 
you,  Wilson? "  It  was  Wayne's  voice. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Wayne.    Who  is  with  you?" 

"  Marshal  Tompkins."  The  man  I  most  wanted  to 
see — Jamesville's  guardian  of  the  law. 

289 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  Come  on  up,  please,"  I  said  and  put  the  rifle  in  an 
inconspicuous  place.  "  I  was  going  in  to  James ville  this 
afternoon,  only  my  horse  strayed."  They  dismounted 
and  came  to  the  fire,  hands  out  to  warm  them,  for  the 
mountain  nights  were  chill.  I  added,  "  I'd  have  been  to 
see  you  both  in  the  morning." 

"  You'll  come  down  to  see  us  both  to-night,"  said 
Wayne,  meaningly.  "  Where's  Lem  Strong?  " 

"  In  the  shack."  Wayne  started  for  it,  but  stopped 
at  my  call,  "  Just  a  minute,  Mr.  Wayne,  please.  What's 
doing? " 

"  You'll  learn  quick  enough,"  and  again  he  started, 
to  be  halted  by  my  anxious: 

"  You  don't  want  to  go  in  there,  Mr.  Wayne."  I 
feared  what  Lem  with  the  revolver  might  do  to  his 
enemy.  "  Let  the  marshal  go.  You  come  back  to  the 
fire."  And  Wayne,  eyebrows  raised,  returned. 

Marshal  Tompkins  hadn't  opened  his  mouth  yet.  He 
was  a  slow  man  in  thought  and  action.  Now  he  ceased 
warming  his  hands  to  run  them  through  his  pockets,  and 
produced  a  couple  of  papers,  which  he  handed  me,  with : 
'  Warrants.  You  and  him.  Under  arrest."  Again 
he  poked  out  his  hands  to  the  blaze. 

My  eyes  popped,  and  fingers  trembled  as  I  fumbled 
one  open.  Wayne  chuckled. 

"  I  guess  you'll  be  good  now;  I  just  guess  you'll  be 
good!" 

I  found,  by  reading  the  short  form  in  the  flickering 

290 


Wayne  Makes  His  Last  Bid 

light  of  the  fire,  that  the  State  of  California  wanted 
Theodore  Wilson  for  aiding  and  abetting  a  fugitive  of 
justice,  one  Lemuel  P.  Strong;  and  officers  of  the  law, 
particularly  the  sheriff  of  Plumas  County  or  any  deputy 
of  his  office,  were  instructed  to  arrest  and  hold.  The 
second  paper  was  the  warrant  for  Lem,  the  fugitive. 
It  was  a  serious  situation. 

"  I  suppose  you — you  made  the  charge  against  me — 
us? "  I  stammered,  looking  at  the  leering  hotel 
man. 

"  I  swore  to  them  complaints,  yes;  and  I  guess  the 
charges'll  stick.  Call  Lem  out  here — or  I'll  go  get 
him." 

"  The  marshal  will  get  him — directly.  There's  no 
rush.  He'll  wait  there — has  a  job  there  that  will  hold 
him.  He  won't  get  away,  Mr.  Wayne.  Are  you — are 
you  still  wanting  the  Black  Boulder  claim? " 

He  had  started  again  for  the  shack,  but  he  turned 
back  eagerly  to  me.  I  saw  his  eyes  glitter,  as  he  tapped 
Marshal  Tompkins  on  the  shoulder,  with: 

"  You  get  the  kid  from  the  hut,  Tompkins.  I  want 
to  talk  with  Wilson  here,"  and  the  marshal  grunted  and 
went  slowly  to  the  shack.  I  called: 

"All  right,  Lem;  it's  the  town  marshal.  Let  him 
in,"  and  gave  my  attention  to  Wayne. 

"  Ready  to  do  business  now,  are  you? "  he  sneered. 
"  Not  so  uppity  as  when  you  last  talked  Black  Boulder, 
eh?" 

291 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  Things  are  a  bit  changed  since  then.  You've  in 
creased  the  offer  to  a  thousand  dollars,  haven't  you?  " 

"There  isn't  any  offer — not  one  cent!  We  begin 
fresh  right  this  minute!  All  old  deals  are  off.  I'm  lis 
tening  now,  not  bidding." 

"  You've  got  me  in  a  pretty  tight  place,  Mr.  Wayne." 
I  was  talking  fast  and  loud,  to  distract  Wayne's  atten 
tion  from  the  rumble  of  conversation  in  the  shack.  "  I 
can't  bargain  much  with  this  warrant  hanging  over  me. 
You'll  let  me  off  that  charge  before  we  talk  business, 
won't  you? " 

"  We'll  do  business  with  that  warrant  square  in  front 
of  your  eyes,  Ted  Wilson.  It'll  be  a  part  of  any  bargain 
we  strike.  Seems  to  me  it  ought  to  be  worth  a  dry  gravel 
claim  on  Old  Baldy." 

"  Maybe  a  dry  claim;  but  there's  water  on  Baldy  now, 
Mr.  Wayne." 

"  Water,  yes ;  mine.  I  own  the  water,  every  drop  of 
it.  Got  a  full  well  of  it,  ready  to  pump ;  and  so  far  as 
you're  concerned,  it  doesn't  increase  the  value  of  Black 
Boulder  one  plugged  nickel.  You  couldn't  buy,  beg 
or  steal  a  miner's  inch  off  my  well  for  anything  less  than 
your  claim  itself." 

I  stared  at  Wayne.  He  was  standing  almost  against 
a  sluice-box  through  which  ran  the  flow  from  his  well 
at  the  mesquites.  Couldn't  he  hear  it  singing  over  the 
riffles?  Then  I  remembered;  he  wasn't  a  mining  man, 
and  he  didn't  know  the  Black  Boulder,  or  even  Baldy. 

292 


Wayne  Makes  His  Last  Bid 

To  him,  the  murmur  and  gurgle  of  water  on  the  planks 
meant  nothing.  His  Chinamen  had  told  him  they  had 
found  water;  when  they  left,  the  shaft  had  not  filled. 
It  was  afterward  that  it  broke  over  the  top  to  flood  the 
gully.  Wayne  thought  he  had  a  well;  didn't  know  that 
his  well  was  a  stream,  and  filled  almost  full  the  Black 
Boulder  sluices.  I  couldn't  help  but  smile  at  his  assur 
ance  in  the  face  of  the  facts  as  I  knew  them. 

"  I'm  listening  for  an  offer,"  he  broke  the  silence  at 
last.  "  The  marshal'll  be  here  in  a  minute,  and  there 
won't  be  any  chance  after  that.  What's  on  your  mind? 
Quick!" 

"  For  cash,  fifty  thousand  dollars,  Mr.  Wayne." 

"  What!  "  It  sounded  like  an  explosion;  then  glanc 
ing  apprehensively  at  the  shack  door,  he  lowered  his 
voice  to  snap  at  me,  "  You're  crazy.  I'll  keep  you  from 
jail,  and  you'll  deed  me  your  claim." 

"  No,  Mr.  Wayne." 

"  I'll  keep  you  from  jail,  and  give  you  five  hundred 
dollars.  That's  the  last  chance." 

"  No,  Mr.  Wayne." 

"  It  ain't  worth  a  red  cent  without  water " 

"  Lean  over,  Mr.  Wayne,  and  poke  your  arm  into  that 
sluice-box."  He  did,  wonderingly,  to  wet  his  arm  al 
most  to  the  elbow.  As  he  snatched  it  out,  shaking  the 
water  from  it,  I  went  on  quietly,  "  Your  water,  Mr. 
Wayne,  trespassing  on  my  claim.  I'm  not  going  to  sue 
you  for  the  damage  it  did  to  my  sluices,  because  I  can 

293 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

make  it  earn  back  that — and  thousands  of  dollars  more. 
As  to  your  warrants,  we'll  try  to  face  them,  without 
dodging.  Lem !  "  I  called  to  the  shack,  "  will  you  and 
Marshal  Tompkins  bring  out  Pardner? " 


294 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

GOLD  IN  THE  GRASS  ROOTS 

THE  face  Wayne  turned  to  his  brother,  as  the 
marshal  and  Lem,  one  on  either  side,  led  him, 
still  bound,  into  the  circle  of  the  fire's  glow,  was 
a  picture  of  chagrin,  choked  malice,  thwarted  avarice; 
not  a  sign  of  pity  for  the  man  whose  brother  he  was; 
anger  and  hate  that  his  schemes  had  been  blocked.    But 
even  as  I  watched  the  hotel  man's  face,  lit  by  the  flicker 
ing  flames,  I  saw  the  expression  change;  trembling  lips 
stiffened ;  furtive  eyes  steadied ;  he  threw  back  his  shoul 
ders,  and  I  waited  for  the  bluff  I  knew  was  coming. 

"What's  all  this,  Marshal?     Who've  we  got  here, 
trussed  up  like  a  roastin'  fowl? " 

295 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

Marshal  Tompkins  left  his  prisoners — if  Lem  was 
also  a  prisoner — came  to  the  fire,  his  back  to  them  all, 
say  ing  shortly: 

"  Look  hard,  Wayne." 

Wayne  looked  hard — at  the  marshal — but  there  was 
nothing  to  learn  from  his  rounded  back;  then  his  eyes 
went  to  Lem,  and  to  me,  both  big-eyed,  silent,  wonder 
ing.  Finally  they  rested  on  Pardner,  and  I  saw  the  flash 
of  a  warning  to  him,  the  reply  of  an  almost  impercep 
tible  nod.  The  brothers  had  agreed  to  a  course  of  ac 
tion. 

"Why,  dog-my-cats!  It's  George!"  cried  Wayne, 
hotel  man.  I  thought  I  heard  the  marshal  give  a  little 
snort.  "  What  you  doing  here,  George? " 

"Doing  nothing,"  Wayne,  the  fugitive,  grunted. 
"  These  fool  boys  tied  me  up." 

"  Well,  well !  We'll  fix  that,"  and  Wayne  took  a  step 
toward  him,  to  be  halted  by  a  sharp  two  words  from  the 
marshal: 

"  Leave  be ! "    Tompkins  hadn't  even  turned  his  head. 

Lem  was  grinning  now,  standing  at  Pardner's  side, 
but  his  right  hand  had  come  from  behind  his  back,  and 
in  the  fist  at  the  end  of  it  swung  the  long-barreled,  ugly- 
looking  revolver,  vintage  of  1856.  Wayne's  backward 
step  was  quicker  than  the  advance  had  been.  He  went 
to  the  marshal's  side,  saying: 

"  What  for  you  leaving  my  brother  George  tied  here? 
What's  against  him? " 

296 


Gold  in  the  Grass  Roots 

"  Convict.  Folsom  pen.  Escaped."  Tompkins  was 
economical  of  words. 

"  So?  Well,  well,  well! "  Wayne  tried  to  cover  the 
chagrin  of  this  setback.  "  Come  on,  Marshal.  We'd 
better  be  getting  on  back.  You'll  want  to  lock  your  pris 
oners  up,  I  suppose,  and  there's  a  couple  of  rooms  at 
the  Gilson  House  with  strong  locks  for  you.  What  say 
we  go?" 

"  No  rush,"  said  the  quiet  Tompkins,  hands  spread  to 
the  glow. 

"  It's  nine  o'clock,  and  a  long  trail.  You  can  put 
George  on  my  horse,  and  I'll  walk  and  watch  the  kids 
from  getting  away.  One  of  'em's  got  a  gun  you'd  bet 
ter  take  off  him.  Let's  start." 

"  No  hurry,"  from  the  marshal. 

"  There's  hurry  if  you  expect  to  get  home  before  day 
light.  Five  hours  coming  up,  and  it  won't  be  as  quick 
going  back.  Come  on!"  Wayne  was  getting  insist 
ent. 

"  Wait.    I'm  figgering,"  said  the  marshal. 

"  Figuring  on  what?  What's  there  to  figure  on?  We 
take  'em  all  back — George  on  one  horse,  you  on  the 
other " 

"  Figgering  on  four  prisoners  and  only  two  war 
rants,"  interrupted  the  marshal  calmly,  as  though 
Wayne  wasn't  speaking.  "  I'm  laying  to  take  up  Red 
Wayne — brother  George — on  this  here  fugitive  from 

justice  warrant,  but " 

297 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  What?  Take  George  on  the  Lem  Strong  warrant? 
What  you  mean? " 

"  Yes.  I  figger  he's  wuth  more  than  the  kid."  Tomp- 
kins  was  shuffling  the  two  papers  which  I'd  returned  to 
him  after  reading.  "  I  can  cover  him  all  right  with  that 
warrant,  him  being  what's  described  in  it,  a  fugitive  from 
justice.  But  what  I  don't  quite  get  is  which  to  take  up 
on  t'other  warrant." 

"  Wilson.    That  reads  to  arrest  Ted  Wilson." 

"  It  reads  for  aiding  and  abetting  a  fugitive  from 
justice.  That  maybe  would  be  Ted  Wilson,  or  maybe 
'twould  be  you,  Wayne.  I'd  hate  to  make  any  mis 
take "  ' 

"Me?  What  fool-talk's  this,  Tompkins?"  Wayne 
looked  as  though  he  wanted  to  spring  upon  the  marshal 
and  choke  off  his  mad  "  figgering."  But  Marshal 
Tompkins,  sitting  squat  on  his  heels,  elbows  on  his  knees, 
hands  shuffling  the  warrants,  never  even  looked  sidewise 
at  him,  as  he  went  on  in  a  conversational  tone: 

"  Silas  Wayne,  I  hereby  arrest  ye  on  the  charge  of 
wilfully  and  unlawfully  assisting  and  furthering  the 
escape  of  one  George  Wayne,  convict  number  seven 
hundred  and  nine  of  the  penitentiary  at  Folsom,  in  the 
State  of  California,  as  under  the  statoots  made  and  pro 
vided."  He  spat  into  the  coals. 

Wayne  just  stood  and  stared.  So  did  I,  for  I  could 
not  understand  this  reversal  of  things  at  all.  Here  was 
Wayne  of  the  Gilson  House  being  arrested  on  my  war- 

298 


Gold  in  the  Grass  Roots 

rant;  Red  Wayne  of  Folsom,  on  Lem's.  In  the  hush, 
from  the  trail,  came  the  clatter  of  hoofs,  and  Marshal 
Tompkins  swung  quickly  to  his  feet  and  around,  with: 

"  Here  we  are,  Burchard;  with  both  your  men,"  and 
his  hand  caught  in  the  slack  of  Wayne's  coat  at  the 
shoulders  as  the  hotel  man  attempted  to  slip  quickly  and 
quietly  into  the  shadows.  He  whirled  Wayne  around, 
reached  into  his  hip  pocket,  there  was  the  flash  of  bright 
steel,  a  sharp  click,  and  handcuffs  were  on  Wayne's 
wrists  in  the  instant.  Then  Marshal  Tompkins  of 
Jamesville  turned  his  face  to  me  and  gave  a  ponderous 
wink  of  the  eye. 

I  heard  Mr.  Burchard's  chuckle  before  I  saw  him, 
coming  from  out  the  darkness,  heard  him  cry: 

"  Why,  bless  me,  if  it  ain't  my  boys  again!  Hello, 
there,  you  Ted  and  Lem!  "  He  came  into  the  circle  of 
light  with  hands  outstretched  for  Lem  and  me,  a  smile 
for  us  both,  and  brought  happiness  and  safety  to  our 
hearts.  "  So  this  is  the  Black  Boulder?  Hello,  Tomp; 
I  see  you  got  'em.  Fine  work!  So  this  is  your  claim, 
Ted?  Wish  I  could  see  it.  Must  get  up  some  day  when 
there's  light.  Well,  Wayne,  the  bracelets  somehow 
adorn  you.  Give  you  a  sort  of — sort  of  substantial  look. 
And  if  here  isn't  Number  Seven-o-nine,  all  trussed  up. 
You  seemed  to  think  he  needed  plenty  of  rope,  Tomp." 

"  Not  me — no,  Burchard.  These  kids  had  him  hog- 
tied,  all  just  as  you  see,  when  I  arrove.  They  caught 
the  red  one." 

299 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  Good  enough!  Fine  work,  boys!  "  But  I  couldn't 
stand  and  take  credit  for  what  wasn't  my  due.  I  spoke 
up  then,  with: 

"  I  didn't  do  anything,  Mr.  Burchard.  It  was  Lem. 
He  took  that  old  pistol,  loaded  with  bird-shot,  and  he 
made  Pardner  and  Gallup  both  put  their  hands  up,  just 
as  you  did  us  last  night.  Said  the  same  words,  just  as 
you  did,  in  the  same  tone  of  voice.  And  the  men  acted 
as  we  acted,  reached  all  four  hands  for  the  sky.  All  I 
did  was  to  tie  up  Pardner,  after  Lem  had  caught  him." 

Burchard  shook  Lem's  hand  again,  took  the  revolver, 
looked  at  it  curiously,  and  said: 

"  This  capture  cleans  your  slate,  Lem;  no  doubt  about 
that.  I'll  get  a  letter  off  to-morrow  that'll  set  every 
thing  right  for  you.  And,  Tomp,  we'd  better  be  getting 
back.  You'll  look  after  Lem,  Ted,  keep  him  fed  up  and 
happy,  till  I  can  get  the  release  papers  back,  and  dig 
him  up  a  good  job? " 

"  He  doesn't  need  any  job,  Mr.  Burchard,"  I  an 
swered.  "  Lem's  half  owner  of  the  Black  Boulder  gravel 
claim,  and  there's  water  in  the  sluices  that'll  wash  out 
gold  enough  to  keep  us  both  fed  up  and  happy  for  the 
rest  of  our  lives." 

"  Fine!  I'll  get  up  and  see  it  sometime  by  daylight. 
Let's  go,  Tomp." 

"  Sure,  Chief,"  the  marshal  said,  slowly,  "  but  what 
I'm  figgering  is  who  rides  the  third  hoss?  " 

"  Red  Wayne.  Black  Wayne  walks."  He  put  an 

300 


Gold  in  the  Grass  Roots 

arm  under  Pardner's  elbow  and  led  him  away  toward  the 
horses.  "  Good-night,  lads,"  he  called  back  from  the 
dark.  Marshal  Tompkins,  following  with  Wayne, 
turned  his  head  back  to  droop  a  slow  eyelash  in  a  long 
wink,  as  he  disappeared.  Lem  and  I  looked  at  each 
other.  We  could  hear  the  sound  of  the  horses,  then  the 
noise  of  their  hoofs  on  the  rocky  way.  From  the  night 
came  Burchard's  call,  "  Pleasant  dreams,  boys." 

Slowly  that  wide  grin  illumined  Lem's  face,  and  he 
said  softly: 

"  He  sure  is  a  white  man,  Ted!  " 

I  listened  as  the  hoofs  died  away  down  the  trail;  then 
replied: 

"  He  sure  is,  Lem!" 

****### 

It  was  in  Mother  Laing's  sitting-room  next  evening, 
after  a  supper  that  made  quail,  rabbits,  fish  and  bear 
steaks  all  seem  dry  and  unpalatable  chips  of  wood. 
Mother  Laing  had  her  sewing  basket,  but  she  wasn't 
working.  I  had  been  explaining,  as  I  sat  at  one  end 
of  the  fireplace,  that  she  wasn't  to  work  again,  except 
only  what  she  wanted  to  do — cooking,  for  instance — for 
Lem  and  me.  And  she  was  smiling  impartially  at  Lem, 
at  the  other  end  of  the  hearth,  and  at  me. 

1  You're  both  to  be  my  boys  now,"  she  said.  "  There 
will  be  a  fire  in  the  hearth,  and  a  lamp  on  the  table,  with 
something  in  the  pantry,  whenever  you  come  down  from 

the  claim " 

301 


Black  Boulder  Claim 

"  Or  back  from  school,  Mother  Laing,"  I  interrupted. 
"  When  we  have  everything  working  smooth  on  Black 
Boulder,  Lem  and  I  are  going  away  to  get  ready  for  col 
lege."  My  eyes  on  Lem's  face,  I  saw  the  shadow  my 
words  were  casting,  and  hurried  on,  "  Lem's  will  be  the 
agricultural  university " — the  shadow  lifted,  a  grin 
showed — "  where  he'll  learn  real  farming,  and  I'll — I'll 
study  everything!" 

"  Better  set  one  trail  and  stick  to  it,  mountain  or 
college,"  Mother  Laing  advised.  I  shook  my  head, 
smiling.  Not  for  me  the  trim  trails  whose  ends  are 
marked.  I  must  wander  into  new  lands,  where  there 
are  no  sign-posts,  break  untrodden  ways  for  others  to 
follow  in  surety.  But  Mother  Laing  was  talking. 
"  Didn't  you  find  it,  just  as  your  father  said?  Far-away 
gold  shines  brighter  than  the  gold  in  the  pan,  the  won 
derful  prospect  in  the  distance  is  a  mirage,  and  the  mine 
you  own,  close  to  your  home,  is  the  best  mine  of  all." 

"  But  should  I  have  found  it  by  staying  at  home? " 
I  argued,  happily.  "  Sold  out  to  Wayne  for  a  song, 
probably.  Been  working  now  for  him  at  the  hotel, 
likely." 

"  And  I'd  still  be  manicuring  his  horses  at  nothing  per 
week,  instead  of  looking  after  Zim  and  Faustina,  and 
owning  the  finest  irrigated  farm  on  the  bald  side  of 
Baldy,"  Lem  helped  the  argument. 

"  Would  I  ever  have  found  this?  "  I  pulled  from  my 
pocket  a  bit  of  white  quartz  with  threads  of  gold  in  its 

302 


Gold  in  the  Grass  Roots 

seams,  picked  up  at  Ophir  Creek.  "  Some  place  on 
Baldy  there's  a  ledge  of  this  ore — and  it's  rich — richer 
than  any  gravel  claim  that  ever  happened!  Look  at  it, 
Mother  Laing!" 

She  gave  me  her  quiet  smile  as  she  adjusted  glasses 
to  see  the  glitter  of  wire  gold,  and  said  calmly: 

"  I  suppose  you'll  have  to  hunt  for  it,  Ted.  Your 
father  would,  and  you  are  like  him.  But  don't  wander 
too  far  away  from  the  sure  things  of  this  life.  They  hold 
the  old  world  together,  lad.  Remember  your  father's 
last  words  to  you:  *  There  is  gold  in  the  grass  roots.' ' 

THE  END 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


